Smallville Armageddon Aftermath
by IolantheAlias
Summary: Based on Ep 718 "Apocalypse"-Clark is in an alt-universe where he never made it off Krypton. But Zod did & conquered the Earth. The few human survivors have little love for Kryptonians & Clark is their prisoner. Sequel to Tobiwolf13's"Armageddon".
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This fanfic is actually a sequel to another fanfic. It's based on __**Tobiwolf13**__'s amazing story, "Armageddon", which can be found on her website, __**Effulgent and Smoking Cool dot com. **_

_Many thanks to Tobi who graciously gave permission to use her fic as background. Now go ahead and read her story. I'll wait. _

_

* * *

Good story, wasn't it? It's based on the Season Seven, Episode Eighteen episode "Apocalypse". As you no doubt recall, that episode starts with Brainiac taking Kara to the Krypton of the past, on a mission to destroy baby Kal-El before the infant ever leaves Krypton. _

_ Clark, in a fit of despondency, thinks it might be better if he __**did **__never leave Krypton. Chloe tries to make him see reason, but what does the trick is Jor-El putting Clark into a simulation (?) of an alternate world where Clark doesn't exist. In Tobiwolf's story, Clark really __**is**__ in this alternate world, and things haven't gone well at all. Zod and his disciples have taken over Earth, and performed genocide on the human race. Lex, Chloe, Lois, Martha, and others are part of the sad remnant of humanity who are fighting a losing battle against the Kryptonian invaders. They don't much like Clark, this new Kryptonian who has just appeared, but Clark and the Resistance are able to work together to take down Zod et al. _

_ In Tobiwolf's story, Clark is "killed" in the climactic battle, which sends him back to his own universe and back to show canon. But what if Clark made it through the battle, and had to stay on the alternate world? What would he do next? What would everyone else do next? _

_ I couldn't stop thinking about that, and that's why I wrote this story. Once again, Very Special Thanks to Tobiwolf13 who had the idea, and who graciously gave permission to play in her universe._

**Armageddon Aftermath**

Clark straightened, fighting against the nausea induced by the kryptonite handcuffs. He stared at the members of the panel sitting on the dais in front of him - the panel that would decide his fate. His stomach churned. He'd never been very articulate, never a good arguer. He'd always left that up to others – his forte was to act - in secret in possible, overtly if not. He was a doer, not a talker. And now his lack of practice might seal his doom.

From left to right, their gaze met his. Not one of them had sympathy; the best was curiosity. Clark swallowed at the sight of the familiar faces, now distorted out of recognition. He'd known them all in his own world. Now he was in some dystopian parallel world, where old friends and acquaintances had become new enemies.

First, from the leftward-most position. Andrea Rojas stared back at him, her overt hostility apparent. Clark had last seen her at the _Daily Planet _in his own world, putting on her glasses to simulate the identity of a mild-mannered reporter. Little did the Metropolis Police Department and her _Planet _colleagues know that she was the vigilante dubbed "The Angel of Vengeance". A kryptonite-infused heart transplant had given her preternatural strength and agility.

The meteor power had allowed Rojas to survive when Zod and his henchmen invaded this Earth. Unfortunately, she seemed incapable of letting bygones be bygones, still seemed obsessed with vengeance. On Clark's world, Andrea had killed a man in revenge for her mother's death. He did not doubt that this version of The Angel of Vengeance had killed more than once. And Clark also knew that Rojas would have no qualms about killing him.

Next, there was a muscular man. Clark knew him as Arthur Curry. In Clark's own world, Arthur (he preferred to be called "A.C.") also had powers, but to the best of Clark's knowledge, in this case the powers were not due to meteor rock exposure. A.C. needed water all the time – to drink, if not to submerge himself in. Clark had seen the man gain strength when drenched, and knew that A.C. could swim nearly as fast as himself. A.C. also seemed to have the ability to throw some sort of energy bolts through the water. If it ever came to a showdown, Clark would do his very best to make sure that the fight happened on dry land – he wondered if he could win against A.C. in the other's element. A.C. looked back at him, expression neutral.

Moving rightward, Clark came to the third person on the panel that would decide his fate. His heart missed a beat as he looked at Chloe Sullivan, and she looked back at him with no hostility, just curiosity. His best friend at home, her fate in this new world was a cruel joke. Zod and Brainiac had burned her face and neck horribly on the right side; shiny scar tissue distorted her smile. She styled her hair in an attempt to cover the burned scalp, but the effort only called attention to her disfigurement. After a while, though, Clark had stopped seeing that – Chloe's personality shone through as the active, curious, strong reporter he'd known for years. It almost choked him to see the large diamond ring on her left hand – twisting the knife. In this world Chloe was engaged to Lex Luthor.

And Lex was the fourth person behind the table. Outwardly the same as the Lex that Clark had come to know and distrust, this Lex coolly returned Clark's gaze with a weighing one of his own. Seeing Clark stare at him, Lex deliberately took Chloe's hand in his own and squeezed it before letting it go.

Clark quickly turned to the next person in line, the one whose presence had wounded him the most. Martha Clark, formerly Martha Clark Kent. His mother – but not in this world. In this world, Kal-El, the refugee baby from the destroyed planet Krypton, had never been found by the Kents, never been raised as an Earth human. Martha and her husband Jonathan had divorced, their marriage unable to withstand childlessness, and Martha had moved back to Metropolis. One of the few remaining survivors of humanity who did not have a meteor power or was not a metahuman, her craftiness and intelligence had allowed her to survive the Kryptonian-led genocide that had destroyed 99% of Earth's human population. Her expression was hostile. She'd made a point of telling Clark that she was _not _his mother, that she hated him, and that he should stop looking at her "that way". When she had said those words, it was as if a knife had been twisted in his heart.

Clark sighed as he focused on the person to Martha's left, the woman who returned his look with steadfast courage and some distaste. Lois Lane. In Clark's world, she was a reporter wannabe with a yen for eighties hair bands, a veteran of drinking marathons, and a penchant for getting into trouble. In this world, a hardened soldier with a large knife scar on one cheek, and a tactical advisor for the human resistance. The resistance, that, against all odds, and with the help of Clark Kent and his cousin Kara, had succeeded in bringing down the reign of Zod and Brainiac.

Clark felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Lois had looked at him much more malevolently before he had gone with her and the other fighters up to the Fortress of Solitude. In this world, the Fortress didn't belong to Clark; no, it was his own world's Kara's Fortress. Brainiac had kidnapped Kara from Clark's own world, taken her back in time, and, after killing the baby Kal-El, had forced Kara to create the Fortress. Then Brainiac had murdered Kara. Clark had found this parallel world's Kara and had woken her from stasis. The two, along with the humans, had thrown all their dice on a desperate mission to bring down Zod, Zod's concubine Aethyr, and Brainiac. And their mission had succeeded. Lois had actually slapped Clark on the back in camaraderie before Clark had been stabbed by Brainiac and had fallen unconscious. Her gaze now seemed much more welcoming than it had before.

No such luck with the final member of the panel. Clark wondered if there was some sort of cosmic karma that kept reuniting him with old "friends". Actually, old wives. Alicia Baker sat at the far right of the table. In Clark's own world, as in this one, Alicia was a meteor-rock mutant – she could teleport, and she could take people along with her. He'd exposed his secret to her when they were trapped together in a falling elevator, and he'd punched through the wall and grabbed the driveshaft to slow the fall. She in turn, had covered for him by teleporting them both out of the elevator, so that no one would connect the hole in the elevator wall with Clark Kent or Alicia Baker.

But Alicia had another side. Back "home", she'd learned Clark's secret, drugged him with red kryptonite, and had convinced him to run off to Las Vegas together to get married. They'd been disrobing for their honeymoon night when he threw off his jacket with the red K in the pocket. Then Clark had come to his senses. Clark knew that his Alicia had been manipulative. There was little reason to believe that this new version wouldn't be the same.

This Alicia hated Clark, hated Kryptonians - that was obvious. She'd been against letting him live, ever since the resistance had captured him. His working with them to overthrow Zod had not changed her views. Seeing his gaze meet hers, she frowned, and pulled a small box out of her pocket. Opening it, she set a glowing piece of kryptonite on the table in front of her. Clark instinctively stepped backward, out of range, as he felt the sickening weakness touch him. His guard tensed, but relaxed again when he saw that Clark made no other move.

The final person in the room was the videographer. He fussed with his camera, set it on a tripod, and nodded to the panel members. Then he exited. Clark wondered who in this group felt the need to record the proceedings. Probably Lex or Martha, he thought wearily. They knew the importance of history.

The room was sunless and institutional. Gray paint warred with tired beige twelve-inch tile squares. The unshaded fluorescent lights gave off an annoying hum.

Lex Luthor banged a gavel. "This meeting of the Metropolis Council is now in session," he intoned.

"A little more formal than usual, bro?" A.C. asked.

Lex shrugged. "We'll be making some big decisions at this meeting. Let's do it by the book." Heads nodded as Lex named the members present, for the record.

"The only item of business on tonight's agenda…." Lex began. He didn't have to finish. Everyone there knew what was going on. But Lex completed his sentence, no doubt also for the record. "….the disposition of Kal-El of Krypton."

Clark straightened. "My name is Clark Kent," he said firmly. Time to start making his case. He didn't like this talk about _disposition_. That had an uncomfortably final sound to it.

"Do you deny you are Kryptonian?" Martha said, and the venom in her voice pained Clark. "Do you deny your name is Kal-El?" Rhetorical questions. Everyone in the room knew that too.

"I do not deny those things," Clark said steadily. "But the court….is this a court?"

"It will serve as one," Martha said grimly.

"But I would like to bring it to the court's attention that I was raised on Earth since the age of two. That my parents, Jonathan and Martha Kent – " he emphasized the latter, " – named me Clark after my mother's maiden name. And that I think of myself as Clark Kent."

Staring at the panel members and seeing curiosity on Chloe's and Lex's faces. Neutrality on A.C. and Lois. Hostility on Martha, Rojas, and Baker.

_Well, at least that gives me an idea of the way things are leaning. _

"None the less," Martha persisted, "you are Kryptonian? A member of the race who invaded the Earth? Who destroyed the world's military forces in eight hours? Who used its alien Fortress to change the Earth's climate so that the mean temperature is now four degrees Celsius? One of the race responsible for the murder of over six billion human beings?" Clark saw Lois' and A.C.'s neutrality fade into hostility as Martha reiterated the crimes that Zod had committed after he had escaped from the Phantom Zone.

On Clark's own Earth, Brainiac had engineered the release of Zod from the Phantom Zone. But Clark, along with Chloe and Martha, had defeated Brainiac and returned Zod to his imprisonment. Clark's world never knew how close it had come to kneeling before Zod.

But in this bleak alternate world, Clark hadn't been there – Brainiac had gone back in time and prevented Clark, as a baby, from ever leaving Krypton and coming to Earth. Here, there had been no one to stop Zod's reign of terror. Clark should have been there, and he wasn't. And this alternate Earth had suffered.

Time for a little defense. "Yes, I am Kryptonian. A Kryptonian who helped you overthrow Zod. A Kryptonian who made sure that the Earth's climate will come back to normal. A Kryptonian who is your ally." He made sure to lift his chin on that last.

Snorts came from Martha, Rojas, and Baker. The other two women had been silent so far, letting Martha speak for them.

Lex cleared his throat, and gained everyone's attention. "So, Clark Kal-El Kent, what are we to do with you?" His tone intimated, _You'd better save yourself. Because we're not going to save you._

"I'd like to propose a deal," Clark blurted out. He'd practiced his opening in his cell ten times, and here he was, no finesse, no flash.

"Go on," Lex said.

"You set me free," Clark began. He lifted his cuffed hands slightly. The kryptonite glowed malevolently.

"No way," Baker and Rojas said simultaneously. Martha remained silent. A.C.'s eyes widened but he said nothing. Lois shook her head, but slowly. Lex and Chloe looked interested.

"Why should we?" Lex asked. "We know what your kind can do." A gesture indicated their Spartan, underground bunker. Despite Kara's adjustment to the Fortress (she promised return of Earth's climate to normal), the room was chilly enough that all the humans wore parkas. Clark had not been given any additional clothing. Despite losing his powers to kryptonite exposure; he was expected to make do with his red jacket.

"I promise I won't hurt anyone," Clark said, trying to make them understand by his tone that he meant this. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone, with his powers, or in any way. It was ironic that so many had been hurt by his secret. At least he'd saved lives using his powers. And in this world, everyone knew he was an alien. No use trying to keep that a secret anymore. "I will never use my powers to hurt. And I will never kill."

Skeptical looks on some of the panel members' faces.

"I'll help you," Clark said semi-desperately. This wasn't going well at all. "You've seen what Kryptonian powers can do. Imagine having them on your side."

Chloe, Lex, A.C., and Lois looked pensive. Martha's face twisted. Baker and Rojas maintained stony expressions.

"This world needs a lot of help," Clark said more quietly. "Zod and Brainiac are gone, but there's a lot to fix. This is my world too. I want to help fix it. I owe you."

"Go on." Chloe said this.

"First, I don't hurt anyone. I'll swear on a stack of Bibles, whatever. That's set in stone." Clark hoped repeating it would help his chances. "Second, you set me free."

Another round of skeptical looks.

"Third, I use my powers to help. Freely, willingly, to the best of my ability."

"And the fourth?" Martha's voice held a tiny bit of interest now.

"I get paid."

A snort from A.C. "Paid, bro? Come on." The expressions of the other panel members mimicked his incredulity.

"Hey, I know it's unrealistic right now," Clark said. He was getting their interest, from sheer outrageousness if nothing else. "You're on a wartime economy. But the bad guys are gone, the climate's going to be coming back to normal, and what do you do then? You've got to start some sort of medium of exchange. People are going to be doing jobs and they'll need to be paid somehow. Money makes the world go round."

"Ain't that the truth," Rojas muttered.

"And, if I'm using my abilities full time to help, it's a job." Clark met the skeptical gazes of the seven. "I'll settle for food, clothing, and shelter right now."

"The food could be a little dicey," Lex said musingly. "The children get priority. Given your….ability to absorb solar energy, we might ask you to defer your portion."

"I'm sure that could be worked out," Clark said, the thin, crying children he'd seen a fresh and unwelcome memory. He would certainly do what he could for them.

"Anything else in this deal of yours?" Martha asked skeptically.

"One last thing," Clark said. "I'm a citizen. I get citizenship. If I do this, if we have a bargain, you treat me like everyone else, legally speaking. I have all the rights and responsibilities of any other U.S. citizen."

"The United States is defunct," Lois said challengingly.

"Aren't you all going to get it set up again?" Clark challenged her back. "Zod's been taken down. There's nothing to stop you." He paced slightly, stopping as his guard neared him. "Now that you don't need to be a resistance any longer, what are you going to do about law and order? Is martial law all done?"

Surprised looks on the faces of Baker, Rojas, and Lois. They'd fought so long that thoughts of a time without war hadn't occurred. Chloe, Lex, Martha, and A.C. obviously had considered things, made contingency plans.

"Are you going to re-ratify the Constitution, and have it be the supreme law of the land?" Clark probed. He'd done some thinking about this, in his lonely prison.

Glances between Chloe, Lex, and Martha.

"If you do, I want it to apply to me. I want the Thirteenth Amendment to apply. Slavery or involuntary servitude is prohibited."

"Except as punishment for a crime," Martha retorted.

"I've committed no crime." Clark made sure to meet her eyes as he said that.

"Being Kryptonian is a crime," Alicia Baker snapped.

"Ah." Clark inhaled. "But what about the Fifteenth Amendment? 'The right of citizens of the United States shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race."

Lex had a tiny smile on his lips. "You forgot to add 'color, or previous condition of servitude' to that."

"Um." Clark decided to press on and ignore Lex's growing amusement. "And the Fourteenth Amendment would cover me too. 'No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.'" Clark was glad for that tenth-grade civics class and the insistence of Mrs. Daugherty that her students know the Bill of Rights. Clark had taken it further, and had memorized, not only all twenty-seven amendments, but the complete text of the Constitution.

"You're not a citizen," Baker said.

"I want to be," Clark said. "That's what this whole deal is about." He tried to keep his voice from trembling. "I want the constitutional protections – " he raised his cuffed hands to show the panel the glowing Kryptonite. " – against cruel and unusual punishment."

"Eighth Amendment," Chloe muttered.

_She must have had Mrs. Daugherty too. _"I know a lot of bad things have happened to this world," he said. "And some of it is my fault. I want to make amends. I _will _help, if you let me go." Clark straightened, met the eyes of each panel member in turn.

Panel members looking away from him, starting to shoot glances at each other.

"Let's be honest with each other," Clark said. There was a curious freedom in basically having nothing left to lose. "You can't keep me around here forever. With these cuffs on, I'm just another mouth to feed."

"Or not," Baker muttered.

"Exactly." Clark steeled himself for the harsh truth. "It's time to fish or cut bait, and you all know it. You can take the chance, and trust me. Or you can kill me."

The expressions on Baker's and Rojas's faces showed which option they'd pick. Martha's face remained impassive.

"If you kill me, you'd be breaking a semi-promise that Chloe gave me." Clark bowed toward the doppelganger of his best friend. "She said, right before we went in to take down Zod, that 'we don't backstab our allies.'"

Lois's face twisted.

"You can kill me. You have the power. But, as you start your new world, you'll know that you built it on a foundation of murder and betrayal. Is that what you want, underlying all your efforts?" Clark let that statement stand there, ringing in the now-silent room.

He looked at the figures facing him. Rojas remained bitter – no hope there. A.C. looked troubled. Chloe had a hint of a smile, and Clark dared hope that she was enough like his Chloe to support him. Lex and Martha's faces gave no hint of their underlying thoughts. Lois's expression matched A.C,'s - that of someone forced to face an uncomfortable truth. And Baker was an opposing bookend to Rojas – the two women obviously hated him and would like to see him dead.

He'd done what he could. Time to get out. "I'm going to walk around," he said. "Let me know when you decide."

Lex was impassive, Martha indignant, Lois surprised, and Chloe amused as Clark turned his back to them. Carefully avoiding his soldier guard, he strode briskly to the door. He carefully opened the door, stepped out, and just as carefully, closed it behind him.

Clark hadn't gotten a few steps away from the door when it slammed open and his minder burst out.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" The fit young man – Clark suspected he was an ex-Marine – hoisted his gun, then thought better of it. As he advanced on Clark, the kryptonite in his belt pack began glowing with more intensity.

Clark felt his knees tremble and the nausea begin. "Nowhere, right now," he managed to choke out. He collapsed on the floor, managing to work his way nearer to the door as he fell. "Please…"

"You stay right there," his guard ordered, standing over him.

"Please….farther away," Clark managed to choke out as the deadly radiation robbed him of the strength to sit. He found himself falling over, lying on the dirty floor.

The soldier glared at him suspiciously, then, seeing Clark's incapacity, took a few steps away. Clark sighed at the lessening of the pain.

"If you try anything, I'll put this right on your heart," the soldier said evenly. His taut posture and general air of alertness marked him as one who, if not a professional, had lived through combat.

"I won't give you any trouble," Clark said wearily.

The soldier eyed him cautiously and moved a small distance away. Clark remained splayed on the floor for what seemed like a long time before he slowly worked himself back into a sitting position. He strained his ears. The kryptonite cuffs had robbed him of most of his powers, but extra-sensitive hearing remained.

"He's nuts!" Clark heard Alicia Baker saying. "You can't trust a Kryptonian."

"I think we can trust him," Chloe said, her voice muffled through the wall. "He can't lie worth a darn. I think he meant what he said."

"But what if he changes his mind?" his mother – no, in this reality she was Martha Clark, the divorced, childless ex-wife of Jonathan Kent. "We wouldn't be able to stop him."

"I'm almost as strong as a Kryptonian," Clark heard Rojas chime in, "but I don't have the speed. Not to mention the heat vision. That's a danger on its own. _You _should know that, Chloe."

Clark flushed as he saw in his mind's eye the Chloe of this world, horribly burned by Brainiac.

"True," Chloe allowed. "But he did say he was raised here on Earth, as a human. And, you have to admit, he doesn't seem to have the arrogance that the other Kryptonians did."

"A good thing his cousin died in the attack," Baker growled. "We couldn't even pretend to trust her."

"She would have been put down right away," Lex agreed, "but the subject today is Kal-El." Clark could just see Lex giving that supercilious smile to Martha. "Or, as he calls himself, Clark Kent."

"Kal-El," Clark heard the alternate version of his mother say, in icy tones. "I don't think we should trust him. You can't trust a Kryptonian."

Lois interjected, sounding strangely hesitant. It was very unlike the Lois that Clark knew – that Lois was always positive, even when she didn't have a clue what she was talking about. "He did fight with us."

Clark was glad to see that this version of Lois appeared to be as loyal as the one in his own world. Lois might be annoying, pigheaded, stubborn, and belligerent, but if you were on her side then she'd fight for you.

"So did a lot of other people who didn't make it home," Rojas said. "How many people did we lose in the assault?"

"Over fifty," Lex said coolly.

"Those losses weren't all due to the Kryptonians," Chloe argued. "Most of that was fighting off other humans."

"Humans who turned collaborator," A. C. observed.

"That's right," Chloe said firmly. "You can't blame everything on the Kryptonians."

"Yes, I can," Baker said stubbornly. "They're why we're sitting here in an underground base, all of us wounded, on a planet that's an iceball."

"Supposedly it's going to warm up," Chloe said.

"If it's going to, it hasn't yet," said Martha skeptically.

"It took a while to cool down, too!" Chloe said hotly.

"Councillors." Lex, as ever, remained cool and urbane despite the fraying tempers around him. "Let's get back to the point. We are discussing what to do with Kal-El."

A.C. chipped in for the first time. "I think we should let him go."

Noises of protest, primarily from Baker, Rojas, and Martha.

"You have to admit that he fought with us," A.C. continued. "Like he said he would. And I agree with Chloe – the dude's a shit liar. His story's crazy, but I believe it. Or at least I believe _he _believes it." He chuckled, then turned serious. "But the man made a point."

"What?" Lois seemed to be the foil for A.C.

"He's right. Do we want to have a murder at the bottom of it all? Bro," and here Clark almost saw A.C. turning to face Lex, "I spend a lot of time in the ocean." The big man's tone was serious. "And sometimes when the storms come, good luck is all you have. Killing the dude after we promised not to would be major bad karma."

"Yes!" Lois said, happier. It was as if A.C. had put into words something she'd been feeling but couldn't stay.

More noises of protest.

Lex's voice again rose over the babble. "I'd like to hear your positions. One by one, please."

Rojas spoke first, and loudly. "We should kill him. Our world is owed vengeance."

"Point taken," Lex said. "A.C.?"

"I already said it, bro. Let him go. We need the good karma."

"Lois?"

"I think we should live up to what we said. We promised that we wouldn't backstab our allies. If we go back on that now, who would believe us in the future?"

"That promise wasn't widely known, Lois," Lex said, again in that cool voice. "Most of the people in this camp would be only to happy to see Kal-El executed."

"But _we_ would know," Lois persisted.

"Martha?"

A long silence. "We can't trust him," Clark heard his erstwhile mother say finally. "I admit it would be nice to have the Kryptonian powers on our side for a change. But we've learned to our sorrow that they'll betray us. It's too dangerous to let him go free."

Clark imagined he could see heads nodding.

"Baker?" Lex asked.

"Kill him," Alicia said. "I agree with Andrea. We need revenge for how they've raped our world. Promises mean nothing."

"His promises or ours?" Clark heard Chloe ask sharply. "I submit to you that our word does mean something. He promised to help us and he did. Now we have to do what we promised."

"We didn't promise to let him pillage. We didn't promise to let him finish off the conquering. He knows where we are now. He knows we're the biggest cell of the Resistance left." Clark heard his mother's taut words. "If we let him go, what chance do we have? We lost so many, spent so much, on the assault…."

"Which we won. Zod and his henchmen are defeated," Chloe said firmly. "Earth is back in our grasp." She took a deep breath. "I'm with A.C. I believe his story. I believe we can trust him." A small laugh. "Heck, if Martha Clark here really did raise him, he'd _have _to be a good guy."

A chuckle from Lex. Clark listened for Martha but there was nothing.

Chloe finished. "We should agree to his deal. Put him to work using his powers to fix what's broken. Let him go free."

More impassioned argument.

Lex slapped his hand down on the table. "I have the deciding vote here, it seems." He waited till he had everyone's attention. "You've all made some good points." That was Lex, lulling everyone in until he swooped in for the kill, Clark thought.

"If it's revenge you're looking for, I'll point out that we did kill the Gang of Three," Lex said. "And don't forget, there are plenty of collaborators that need dealing with."

That had an ominous sound, Clark thought.

"I agree with Chloe that this Kal-El can't lie worth a damn," Lex said. "She's an excellent judge of that. And he has been polite and compliant all the way through."

"Because we've been holding kryptonite on him," Rojas muttered. Clark managed to hear it and he felt a little thrill. Was he becoming accustomed to the low-grade kryptonite exposure? Thinking of it, he didn't feel quite as weak.

"Nonetheless, this is an unparalleled opportunity. An alien, raised as a human – if you believe him, which, oddly enough, I do. Willing to work with us. We can study him, find out what he's capable of doing."

"We know what Kryptonians are capable of doing," Martha said darkly. "Lex, it's too dangerous to trust him."

A pause. "But if we had assurances?" Lex said.

"Hey!" The voice rang painfully on Clark's extended hearing. He flinched. "Get up!"

It was his erstwhile guard, apparently tired of standing around in a hallway guarding a collapsed, handcuffed prisoner. His face indicated he wasn't going to take any postponements.

"OK, OK," Clark said. "Just don't get too close to me with that rock." It really sucked, having basically everyone on Earth (everyone left, anyway) know his secret, and know that meteor rock incapacitated him. If he ever got back to his own world (a dream looking progressively more remote) he had to give serious consideration to developing a strategy to make sure his secret didn't get out.

The guard fumbled with the kryptonite, and Clark suddenly felt a relief from the constant pain. He turned to see that the guard had set the kryptonite in some sort of case – it must have been lead-lined. The guard approached him, and this time, Clark didn't collapse. The guard grabbed his arm and helped him get up.

"Back to your cell now." The guard's voice was emotionless. "This way."

As they marched back to his cell, Clark mused that he at least knew where everyone stood. For: A.C., Lois, and Chloe. On the fence: Lex. And against – his "mother", his ex-"wife" Alicia Baker, and the woman who had been the Angel of Vengeance in his old world, Andrea Rojas. Also against – every other Earthling on this base that knew of him.

The one thing that nagged the most at Clark was his knowledge of Lex. Lex always had a Plan B. In fact, he usually had Plans C through H. Clark was actually less afraid of being summarily executed – Lex would percolate some scheme through his twisty brain and figure out some way that Clark would end up working for_ him_ – than of what Lex had said. What did Lex mean by _assurances_?


	2. Chapter 2

_Three months later_

"You can't be serious!" I hissed out, reflexively keeping my voice low. Why I bothered I didn't know, because the cause of my disbelief was right in the room with us.

"Martha, I know you're a little leery – "

"A _little_!"

Lex continued. "But we really need you. And this is the only way you can do the job."

"With _him_?"

Lex sighed. "Let me go through it once again. We need you, Martha. You're our best diplomat. And the situation in Denver – it's critical."

I nodded. Lex didn't have to say that Denver was the last holdout. I'd spent the last few months with Bruce, going up and down the Eastern seaboard, getting everyone in line. Oliver, and Lois, out west, had taken care of the Pacific states. Lex here in Metropolis was handling the heartland. But the Mountain Time Zone? Not on board with the rebuilding.

"And, contrary to what you may think, from zipping around in Mr. Wayne's private plane all the time, gasoline is not all that plentiful." Lex frowned. "In fact, supplies are critically low. We've cannibalized all we can from abandoned automobiles. But the little we have left, we have to save for the tractors and the farming tools, for planting when spring comes."

I nodded my head reluctantly. The Earth had been in a thirty-month winter, and we'd been living off preserved food. Collaborators, and we, too, had managed to keep indoor gardens, and we thought we'd been able to find enough seed. But if we wanted to live through next winter we _had _to get a crop in. And there weren't enough people left in the country to go back to hand farming. We _had _to use more efficient methods.

"A.C. and Wally and their teams have managed to get an oil rig in the Gulf back on line," Lex explained, in that careful voice. Amusement crept in as he said, "I guess all those days of enviro-protesting helped A.C. learn how those big rigs work."

I shrugged. I was not amused.

"And they assure me they can get a refinery working too," Lex said dubiously. "I'm not really sure about that." He put on his hopeful face. "On the other hand, we have sent them Tom Lee, our best engineer. He's pulled off miracles for us before."

"Enough with the refinery talk. You're delaying."

Lex didn't deny it. He pointed to the other man in the room, the man who had stood up when I entered, and had remained standing, in awkward silence, throughout our conversation. "You're going with _him_."

_Him. _ A Kryptonian. One of the race who had raped our world, whose genocidal amusements had led to the death of 99% of the Earth's human population, as well as untold ecological catastrophe from meddling with the climate.

_Him. _Kal-El. An alien who looked like a man, an alien who said he was against what Zod and his cronies had done. An alien who _had _fought with us to overthrow Zod, I allowed grudgingly. We wouldn't have been able to celebrate our victory without Kal-El's help.

_Him. _Six foot three inches tall. Two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Invulnerable, super-strong, super-fast, could hear conversations a mile away, could shoot heat and fire from his eyes, got his powers from our yellow sun. Powers no human had, powers no human could match, powers no human could fight if he decided to turn against us. An alien who'd pledged to be on our side, to use his abilities to help us fix our world. But the pledge made under duress.

_Him. _The alien, who in a cruel parody of everything I loved, called himself Clark Kent. The man who, every time he looked at me, stared at me with that expression, the one I hated. The expression that said, "You're my mother." Except I wasn't.

"No way," I protested.

Inside I knew I was going to do it. When Lex got like this he was a steamroller, a juggernaut. Or maybe he was a twisty snake. Somehow, you ended up doing what he wanted, asking yourself, _What just happened?_

And somehow, I knew, it was fate. I'd met Kryptonians before and hoped that it would never happen again. Destiny loved to toy with me, however, because their paths and mine kept crossing.

"Martha, Clark has promised – "

Lex broke off at my glare.

"_Kal-El_ has promised to put his abilities at your disposal, and to obey your orders."

"And if I order him to take a flying leap off a cliff?" I asked sourly.

Kal-El shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor.

"You know it wouldn't hurt him anyway," Lex said briskly. "And you two will want to present a united front. Helps the negotiating position, you know."

I glared at him.

Lex abandoned the teasing tone. "I know what I'm asking, Martha. But we need you. I have to be here near Metropolis, you know that. Lois is out with Oliver. I know you just got back from the East Coast. But we need you in Denver by the day after tomorrow. The only way we could do it without Cl – without Kal-El, would be to fly you and we already went through why we can't. No gas. So speeding you is the only way."

I sighed. Lex and the resistance were the only reason I'd survived the past three years. How else would a middle-aged lawyer have lived through the great upheaval? I owed him. He was right, too, that I was the best diplomat. Twenty-five years of law had seen to that.

"Besides, Martha, you know the situation is risky. Bandits on the roads, breakdown of order….Frank in Denver is practically a warlord. It's not safe." Lex gave that little smile again. "Kal-El will be your bodyguard."

I just stared at him. Inside I had to admit that a Kryptonian would be a damn good bodyguard. I knew from personal experience how hard they were to kill.

* * *

"Can we talk?" _he _said, sprinting a little to catch up with me in the hallway, deliberately oblivious to my snubbing him.

I stopped and sighed. I knew I'd have to talk to him eventually. I just hated to.

"Kal-El, we – "

"Please call me Clark," he interrupted in a soft voice.

No way. _My _name, used by the alien?

"_I'm _Clark," I pointed out. Yep, that was me. Martha Clark, once a high-priced lawyer and daughter to the eminent Clarks of Metropolis. Once, also, Martha Clark Kent, wife to Jonathan Kent. No more.

"As I was saying, _Kal-El, _we've got a job to do." I _almost _missed the fleeting pain that crossed his face. "You're my transportation, nothing more."

"And bodyguard," he murmured.

"And bodyguard," I added reluctantly. Then, to get things right out in the open, I added, "I'm not asking for your opinion."

He stopped and straightened, stared down at me. God, he was big. Even if he were human he could overpower me. I had a bad feeling that I wasn't intimidating him at all, that he was actually amused.

"Nevertheless, _Mrs. Kent, _I'll offer it when I think you need it."

The bastard. On the name thing, it was tit for tat. I only hoped that calling him "Kal-El" hurt him as much as him saying "Mrs. Kent" hurt me.

We stared at each other and I wasn't the first to look away. I felt a little twinge of triumph when he stomped away down the hallway.

I waited a few minutes to let him get farther away. Then I relaxed, although _collapsing _might be a more accurate term. The diamond edge of pretend-confidence and outrage that had sustained me all though our meeting with Lex was broken now. I couldn't be strong any more. I'd been away for two months, and all I wanted to do was fall into my own bed. And then Lex had blindsided me with _this._

I picked up my briefcase. Strange, how such a civilized artifact had survived civilization's breakup. I clung to it all the more dearly for that, along with my heels and my business "power" suit. Totally worthless for everyday life now, but a symbol that someday we would rise again, that there would be enough food and sunshine to have totally impractical things like lawyers and courtrooms and business suits.

But not today. I made my way slowly to my room and collapsed into bed.

* * *

We'd made plans for a dawn departure the next morning, to maximize the daylight. What little daylight there was, these days. The alarm woke me at what seemed an insanely early hour, and I trudged down to the showers. I wasn't looking forward to that. I wanted – I needed – to be clean, but the showers were tepid at best and Arctic-cold at worst.

Then, miracle of miracles, I turned on the water, ready to jump aside. Something akin to a purr came out of my mouth when I realized the water was _hot. _ Surprising. Lex had made a point of how fuel was limited. Before I'd left to go with Bruce, there had been dire talk about energy reserves and the lack thereof.

Maybe, with the climate repairing itself (I refused to think about that Kryptonian girl - Kara? - who'd died as she stood at that alien console in the crystalline Fortress, rearranging and reprogramming, telling us that we'd have our Sun once again) they'd gotten the solar panels to be more efficient? Whatever. I had to go out again on a mission today. I was damn well going to luxuriate in a hot shower, now that there was one.

It took me only a short time to arrange my pack. I'd been on the road for two months, and I had it down to a science. Tent, ground cover, inflatable air mattress, sleeping bag, toiletries including that next-to-last bar of scented soap, three days of concentrated rations. Collapsible, stacking cookware. Water bottle and water purifier. Change of clothing. And more. Everything was light and easily carried, only the best hiking and camping gear "liberated" from outdoor stores whose clientele, like 99% of the Earth's population, would never shop again.

I shrugged into my jeans and flannel shirt, vest, and liner. Not what I would consider remotely appropriate for diplomacy in the past, but standards had changed there as well. Even though the climate was slowly returning to normal, it wasn't normal yet. The most important thing for a human was still warmth. And, despite the fact that it was May, in Kansas, it still felt like January in Northern Canada.

I laced up my boots, picked up my pack and coat. I wouldn't put on the outerwear until we got going. Here, underground, the temperature was decent.

I stayed for a minute before I stepped out of my room, assembling my persona. The mental preparation was as important as the physical. Who was I? I was Martha Clark, hotshot lawyer. Martha Clark, the Resistance strategist. Martha Clark, who helped bring down alien conquerors. Martha Clark, whom you messed with at your peril. I opened the door and strode out of the room. Ready to go.

Lex was waiting in his office. Kal-El was there too.

"Good morning, Lex," I said. I thought about it and gave a brief nod to Kal-El. I couldn't totally ignore him, he was my mule.

"Good morning, Martha," Lex replied. Kal-El nodded back. He had that look again. Every time he saw me there was a flash of….fondness? Love? Then it would shut down as he realized who I was, and what _he _was. I hated it.

"A final briefing. We've contacted Denver, and they're expecting you sometime this afternoon."

"If you still have communications with them, why do you need me to go?"

Lex frowned. "I'm not sure that everything is right." He steepled his fingers. "We did go over this last night, remember?"

Actually, I did remember some, now that he was talking about it. I'd blanked out much of the briefing, being still outraged at having to go with Kal-El.

"We were in contact with Michael Carter, and we'd come to some agreements. He was going to be here for the Constitutional Convention later this year."

"And?"

"We haven't heard from Michael in a month. We've only spoken with his lieutenant, Hank Hall. Hank may have a different agenda." He leaned forward. "One of the reasons I want you there, Martha, is to find out what happened to Michael. They'll only tell us that Michael is sick. They won't say what he's sick with or when – or if- he's expected to get better. Frankly, Martha, your mission is as much to gather information as it is to negotiate."

The pieces snapped into place. I should have realized this last night. My only excuse is that I was tired, heartsick, and outraged, all at the same time.

"Hence your choice of my assistant and bodyguard?" I said lightly.

Lex looked disappointed. I'd failed him by actually having to point it out. "I'm sure that you will admit that Cl – that _Kal-El's_ abilities will be helpful in the information-gathering part of your mission."

I just bet they would. I gave a small shudder as I was reminded that I'd have absolutely no privacy for the next few days. "Out of sight" meant nothing when your companion could see through solid rock.

"We won't be able to communicate with you on the road. Communications are intermittent, and we're lucky to have that. Get the info, do the job, and come back safe," Lex said intently. He stood up. "Are you ready to go?"

Hardly the way the President had run things, back in the days when there was a country. The old President had had flunkies and minions and staffers, loads of people to send on jobs and do his bidding. Lex, basically the de-facto President now, just had me. Had us. We'd have to do.

I could do it. I was Martha Clark. Martha Clark, ace diplomat. Martha Clark, intelligence operative.

And now I was Martha Clark, nervous, walking to the base entrance with Lex and with _him. _I carried my pack, not wanting to let it out of my sight. I caught sight of _his _pack – twice as big as mine.

People passed by in the halls. There were a lot fewer than there had been two months ago. Some we'd lost in the final battle. Others, I knew, had been sent out on various jobs, everyone working as hard as they could to get civilization running again.

"Clark!" The voice caught my attention, and automatically I looked to see the little girl running toward us. Who was she? I fumbled for her name.

She ran right past me. "Clark," she called again. Kal-El knelt down and she hugged him. "Are you going away again?"

Horrified, I took a deep breath. Where were that child's parents? Didn't they know that Kal-El was Kryptonian?

As if on cue, a man came puffing up. I recognized him as Charlie Greene, whose name was oddly appropriate for his job – he ran our underground gardens. His vegetables had been all that stood between us and scurvy for the past two years.

"Clark, good to see you," he said. He actually talked to Kal-El. I couldn't believe it. "I could tell you were back, the showers were hot today!" His face fell at the sight of our packs. "Darn! Are you off on another mission?"

Kal-El shrugged, careful not to dislodge the little girl who hugged him. I shivered. Didn't she know she was flirting with danger?

"I go where they send me, you know that, Charlie." He stood up. "If I find anything good, I'll bring it back for you and Mary."

"OK." Charlie's eyes turned to me and he smiled. "Martha! Good to see you back!"

I made some appropriate response, my world still upside down.

"Martha, you're going too?" Charlie was a master of the obvious. He smiled. "You're lucky to be going with Clark. Hot water every day….no heavy lifting…."

The Kryptonian was more dangerous than I'd thought. He'd wormed his way into people's confidence. I shuddered. Didn't anyone have any sense? Lex was on good terms with him too….But Lex could be counted on to keep his head.

And now I had to work with _him, _the alien. My heart beat faster at the idea. Our mission would be starting any minute now. I thought about throwing down my pack, saying I couldn't go….Like that would get me anywhere. No. I had my pride. I'd said I'd go on this mission. I'd given my promise. Even if I did have to be in contact with the alien, face his mocking gaze, try and shield myself from his vision, restrain myself from…..I fingered the meteor rock in my pocket. It was in a lead-lined bag. A bag that was easy-open. I knew if the green meteorite was not behind lead, that the alien would feel it, and he would take it away from me. Or, considering the way he'd wormed himself into Lex's confidence, he'd have Lex or someone else take it away from me, if he couldn't himself.

I wouldn't be the first to use the kryptonite. But I was ready to respond, when the alien made his move. Of course, that was assuming that I could move fast enough – that I had some warning. Bitter experience had taught me that, if the Kryptonian suspected my weapon while it was sheathed, he could remove it faster than I could blink.

"Martha?" Charlie asked me again. Oh yes. He'd spoken to me. Kal-El set the little girl down and Mary ran back to her father.

I mumbled something appropriate to Charlie. Mary hung on his leg, shy with me as she hadn't been with Kal-El. That hurt.

"Good luck!" Charlie said, waving at us as he gathered up his daughter and they went down the tunnels. I glared at Kal-El. He said nothing. Lex said nothing. We just continued walking. I just kept on thinking. What other plans had Kal-El made? How could I stop him?

We arrived at the exit door, and the three of us stood awkwardly at the exit. I wanted to delay opening the door to the cold outside. I knew what it was like out there. As bleak as our underground lair was, at least we had food and heat (such as it was) and shelter. Not like the bleak wasteland that awaited us outside.

Lex took my hand. "I _am_ grateful, Martha. I know I'm overworking you." His tired eyes made me think he was overworking himself. "But you know, the traditional reward for a job well done…."

"…is another job," I filled in the punch line. "I'll do my best."

Lex turned to _him. _"And, Clark – "

Lex ignored my death glare.

"Clark, please protect Martha. Get her home safely. Gathering information would be a bonus."

_He _nodded. Lex shook _his _hand firmly. How could he do that?

"You know where you're going?" Lex addressed this to Kal-El.

"I've got a pretty good idea," _he _said. "I've got some old road maps, and if we stay on the major highways, we should be OK."

"All right, then," Lex said. "Godspeed." He turned, and not looking back, strode away.

Awkward silence.

"Well, if you're ready to go….?" His voice almost stuttered.

I looked around at the deserted tunnel. Suddenly it came to me. I was alone again with one of _them. _No one was there to hear me if I screamed. No one would come to my help. No one _could _come to my help. And, oh God, _he _was advancing on me…..


	3. Chapter 3

_From Chapter Two:_

I looked around at the deserted tunnel. Suddenly it came to me. I was alone again with one of _them. _No one was there to hear me if I screamed. No one would come to my help. No one _could _come to my help. And, oh God, _he _was advancing on me…..

* * *

My heart pounded. Automatically I flinched back. My nostrils widened. I barely restrained a terrified whimper.

_He _stopped. I stood a long moment, staring, until I finally realized that _he _had stopped.

_He _met my eyes. His deep voice broke the silence. "I swear to you. You are safe with me."

Something in that tone made it possible for my heart to slow, for me to take a deep breath.

_He_ took off his pack, swung it to the floor. He made no move to approach me. Instead, he sat down in a corner, long legs incongruous near the short stubby pack. I stared at him, eyes wide.

"You know, it comes to me that we're off on this mission together, and we really need to get to know each other a little better first." _He _gave me a hopeful smile.

I said nothing. I stood, tense, my heart racing.

"Or not," _he _muttered.

Another silence.

"Would you like to take off your pack for a minute?" _he_ said in an easy tone.

I ran my tongue over my lips and decided I could do that. If I needed to make any moves (_like that would help, anyway) _I'd need to have more freedom to maneuver. I remained standing, still shaken, avoiding his eyes.

There was another long silence.

"You're probably concerned about your things," _he _said tentatively. "When I went with Chloe, we had to practice so that our packs did OK."

_What did he mean by that?_ I thought. I choked out, "Chloe?"

"Right after, um, that meeting, you probably remember – "

I couldn't remember anything right now_. Except things that you'd rather forget, _my inner voice said.

" – we all went on missions. You went to the East Coast, and Lois to the West, and A.C. to the Gulf, and Chloe and I went to the Midwest – Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburgh, you know."

Some of what he was saying filtered through. I _did _remember everyone going off on their jobs. Baker and Rojas had stayed here in Metropolis with Lex.

It was probably a good idea sending Chloe off with _him. _It was obvious that _he _had feelings for her. He'd said that the Chloe in his world was his best friend. Maybe _he_ wouldn't hurt Chloe, because he liked the parallel her.

And, if he tried anything, Chloe had shown that she could kill a Kryptonian. She'd done it once already, hadn't she? Turned her healing power the other way, draining the life force out of the enemy?

But I, I was just a regular human. No meteor power. No metahuman healing ability. My breathing quickened again at the thought.

"So, um," _he _said loudly, "I thought we might practice to find the way that's most, um, comfortable for you." _He_ must have caught my wide-eyed gaze, because he quickly added, "And most efficient."

Efficient. I could do that. My panic receded a bit, enough to let me know who I was. I was Martha Clark. I wasn't a victim. I had agreed to do this. God, what had I gotten myself into? But now I was stuck.

_Don't let him see your fear, _I told myself. It was probably already too late. But I could put a good face on it, pretend I wasn't afraid. Besides, he wasn't going to attack me here at Metropolis base. No, he'd wait till we were out alone, far from witnesses. Once again I thought of throwing down my pack, walking away. _Could _I do that now? Would _he _let me?

"We've got plenty of time," _he _said, apparently worried at my lack of response as I stared at him. "I can get you to – uh, it won't take us long to get there." _He _tried a smile on me. "There'll probably even be time to make stops. If you want to stop, that is. I mean, you really don't need to, but maybe you'd want to. It's only one state away, it's just a straight shot once we get to I-70, so it really won't take all that long…" he trailed off.

I swallowed. "Wha-what did you have in mind?" I said slowly. _He _was still just sitting there, not moving. That helped.

"Well, I do have to carry you," _he_ said hesitantly.

I knew that, but I'd been blocking it out. _He _must have seen the distaste on my face, because he starting talking fast. "Um, I don't know if you would prefer to be held around the waist and you carry your pack, or if you want me to carry both packs and I hold you in front, or…."

Something he'd said earlier came to mind. At least I could talk now. "What do you mean, _practice so that your packs did OK_?"

_He _looked apologetic. "This is something I can show you better than I can tell you."

OK, now he had me curious. At least that was better than petrified.

"Do you have a knife?" he asked.

_Of course. _I nodded.

_He _lifted his right arm, put his hand with palm flat to the wall. He nodded toward his hand. "Cut me." At my look of incredulity, he repeated. "Cut me. Use your knife."

Well, if he was telling me to…I pulled out my knife and hesitated just a moment. I didn't like going anywhere within his reach, not without him cuffed. But then I told myself who I was again. I was Martha Clark, and I wasn't going to be afraid anymore. _He _stood, not moving, waiting silently for me to make up my mind.

I marched near him, my heart trembling. I reached out with the knife and made a slicing move across his hand. Nothing.

"Try harder," _he _said. Was _he _smiling? I shot him a glare. Nope, definitely not smiling.

I tried to cut him again, putting a little more pressure into it. No bleeding. The amount of force I'd used, in a human, would have opened the hand.

"OK, you're invulnerable," I said, my voice barely shaking. "We knew that from before."

"To show you the next part, I have to touch you," _he _said tentatively. Before I could protest, he said, "Put your hand on top of mine." He nodded toward his hand still up against the wall, right about my chest level.

If he'd said to put my hand under his, or if he went to hold mine, there'd be no way I'd do what he said. But my hand would be on top of his, and he was at a bad angle to grab me. Of course, with Kryptonian speed, that didn't matter. But at least he was making the effort. I could pull away at any time.

Hesitantly, I laid my hand on top of his. I hadn't put on my gloves yet, and my cool skin absorbed the warmth of his larger hand. His hand was very warm. I could feel large knuckles under my palm. His fingers were very long. No dirt under his nails, no. I sneaked a quick look at his face – he seemed to be concentrating on something.

"Now cut yourself," _he _said.

I snatched my hand away. "Wait a minute here," I said ominously.

"No, really!" _he _said, protesting. "Please! Try it again." He caught my skeptical expression. "You don't have to really cut yourself. What I mean is that, you know how much pressure it takes to cut you. I'm assuming your knife is sharp?"

Of course it was. I nodded.

_He_ sighed. "Please, just humor me. I want to show you this." _He_ still hadn't moved. _He _still sat quietly, still holding his hand up on the corner wall.

Somehow _he_ convinced me. I laid my palm on his hand, his palm on the wall. He got that concentrating look again, and said, "Try cutting."

Tentatively I reached over with my other hand, gently pressing. No damage. I tried harder. I knew what this knife should do. It wasn't working.

"What did you do?" I asked, pulling my hand back and stepping back from him.

_He _got a momentary smile. It was so bright, for a moment I almost smiled back. "I didn't know I could do this till I came to this world," he started. "I have this, um, the best term would be an _aura_, of invulnerability."

I thought about bullets bouncing off the other Kryptonians. How they'd come unscathed through missile attacks. They had invulnerability, all right.

"And, if I concentrate, I can extend it to whatever else I'm touching." He sounded proud.

"So?"

He looked abashed. "Before I figured it out, if I was running fast when I carried packs, the air friction….there would be some, um, damage."

Well, _that _didn't make me feel very confident. _I _was baggage. Did that mean _I _would get damaged? I was damaged enough already.

He must have caught sight of my expression, because he started babbling again. "You're OK! Don't worry. I always did it for people, I just never knew I was doing it until I learned how to do it consciously – I found that out later!" He stopped to take a breath. "It's just for stuff like jackets and backpacks, stuff that isn't close in to me….I have to concentrate to protect that."

He sounded very young, all of a sudden.

I understood now. "So….you want to practice?"

He looked relieved. "Um, yes. If we can get a plan down…."

We had a job to do. I could do that. "What did you have in mind?"

He looked hesitant. "Well, there's piggybacking…."

My face showed what I felt of that.

"Of course, that's pretty difficult with the packs. Or I could hold you by the waist, or do a front carry…."

I sighed.

* * *

In the end, what worked out best was the front carry. Kal-El took both my pack and his, carrying one on each shoulder. Then he – there was no better word for it than _scooped _– he scooped me up, holding me against the front of his chest.

We had remained strictly professional, at least as much as possible considering that Kal-El was grabbing my legs and there was a whole lot of body contact. There had been one awkward incident. I'd said that I wanted to try the waist carry.

"OK," he said. "It'll probably be easiest if you wear your pack and I wear mine."

"OK." I bent to my pack, shrugged it on. I was unbalanced and I slipped, felt myself falling….

My heart stuttered as Kal-El vanished, and I _felt _him behind me. He caught me, breaking my fall. I jerked out of his arms, scrambling away, trying to get my back against a wall. I almost tripped over his pack, and skittered away from that. I saw him holding my pack, looking confused.

"Don't_ do_ that," I hissed.

"What?"

"_You _know." At his look of incomprehension I elaborated. "Move so fast that I can't see you." Understanding spread over his face as I instructed, "And stand where I _can_ see you."

Kal-El nodded, the nascent relaxation he'd had while we talked now gone. "All right." He stood staring at me in a considering way for a minute and I tried to compose myself. Then he looked at my pack, in his hands, and gently set it down. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I've been with Chloe…." He seemed to think better of finishing that sentence. "I forgot how it is, being around people…" he trailed off there too.

After a minute I was ready to try again. I kicked his pack exasperatedly. It didn't move, and not only that, I stubbed my toe. I barely restrained myself from saying a choice word. I went to shake his pack (because I couldn't shake him.) It didn't move.

"What's in this thing?" I asked. "Rocks?"

Kal-El smiled. "No, canned food." My incomprehension must have shown, because he launched into an explanation. "You know that Lex asked us to look into, um, homesteads, on the way there. People that have been hiding out for the past few years?"

"Like us."

"Yes. But in smaller groups. And they're not part of the resistance, and not collaborators. They're just people trying to survive."

I nodded.

"We could use a lot of those people here. _You _know. We need every pair of hands to get things up and running again."

Strange that Kal-El sounded as passionate as Lex about this.

"Anyway," Kal-El went on, "when I was, uh, touring the Midwest with Chloe, we found that food was always an acceptable calling card. It would get us in the door, and then Chloe would give her spiel. We'd leave them a flier and a map, and then we'd be on our way, having spread the word of the Renaissance in Metropolis."

The Metropolis Renaissance. A fine name for a ragtag bunch of humans and metahumans, the ones who'd lived through the alien invasion by scurrying like rats avoiding a trap. Kal-El continued, "I'm assuming, that since you did the East Coast, that you have a spiel of your own."

"Well….right."

"Once we get away from here, I'll be able to, uh, listen for local groups." He looked away as he said this. My face twisted at the reminder of his inhuman abilities.

"All right, then," I said colorlessly. "You were saying, about my pack?"

He looked relieved as well to be changing the subject. "Um, yes. If you'll put it on, we can practice." I noticed that he said "we"a lot. I wasn't sure yet if we _were_ a "we".

"OK." I slipped on the pack, automatically adjusting the weight over shoulders and hips. I'd become comfortable with this pack and knew just how it should go. I saw Kal-El fiddling with his own pack.

He looked up and gave me what he probably thought was an encouraging smile. By now, he'd surely picked up on my reluctance and my nervousness. Oh, call a spade a spade. My outright fear.

He smiled again and straightened. "I'm going to come over to you and stand next to you." He had started talking very slowly and carefully. "If we can settle on a comfortable….position, then we can start our run."

My mind grasped on anything to delay the moment. "Run? The other Kryptonians flew everywhere."

Embarrassment spread across his features. "Uh….I can't fly yet."

"What? It's what Kryptonians do. They fly. And – " I cut myself off before I blurted out, _And they kill humans. _Not the best thing, to irritate the Kryptonian I'd be spending the next few days with.

Kal-El looked even more embarrassed. "I've, uh, floated a few times. But I don't know how to control it. Or even how to start it."

I snorted a few mirthless chuckles. The one Kryptonian on our side – supposedly – and we had to get the defective one. I managed to not say that out loud, either.

"Are you ready?" Kal-El asked pointedly. No more conversation about his lacks, apparently. Without waiting for my reply, he stepped nearer till he stood next to me.

"Now I put my arm around your waist – " he did so. He had to reach down to do it. His arm was actually more around my hips as my pack was tight to my shoulders and waist.

"You put your arm around mine – " I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. Then I forced myself. Once again, I thought, _He's big. _My arm came nowhere close to curling around his body.

"I lift you up – " It wasn't very comfortable. Too much pressure. I squirmed, and after one fearful moment, he let me go. He did let me go. I looked up and caught him staring back at me with sad eyes.

"I think we'd better try the front carry," I said briskly, trying to mask my trembling voice.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Clark and Martha will be traveling to what are real cities in our world. Note that no offense is intended to inhabitants of these cities. And if I make any egregious mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them. _

_

* * *

_We stood at the door. All stalling aside, it was really time to go. I put on my hat, scarf, and mittens. My mittens were clipped to a string that ran up the sleeves, so I couldn't lose them. Just like the Inuit in the Arctic, where a lost mitten might mean a lost hand or a lost life.

I saw Kal-El bundling up too. Lex must have had him outfitted. When he'd first landed in our world, what had given him away as Kryptonian was that he wore only jeans and a light jacket over his T-shirt. Humans needed extra clothing to survive. I wondered why he bothered. Certainly, he didn't feel the cold.

Kal-El pulled an old road map from his coat pocket. "You're OK with taking the side roads?" he asked me once again.

I frowned. "I know that the interstate appears to be the shortest, but it's usually clogged with cars. At least it was on the East Coast." I tactfully didn't mention _why_ – many of those cars still had bodies in them, from the first big evacuations. Traffic jams, fraying tempers – and then the Kryptonians swooped down and rained death and destruction. It had been the first part of their depopulation campaign. They'd managed to cover most of the world in a very short time. I shuddered to think of what Beijing and London must be like. The main roads were crowded necropolises. Back roads tended to be a little clearer.

I wondered if anyone had actually told Kal-El the details of the Kryptonian occupation. If I ever got the guts, I'd ask him that. On the other hand, maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe no one had told him the story of those first few chaotic months because they didn't want to give him any ideas.

I shook my head angrily. Now I was getting frightened again. And I couldn't afford to. It was unlikely that Kal-El would try anything; I'd realized that as my mind grew clearer. Everyone at the Metropolis base knew I'd gone off with him alone. And Kal-El, although he never spoke of it, surely must know that he was on lifelong probation. We had kryptonite and we weren't afraid to use it. Reminded, I patted my jeans pocket for the small lump of meteor rock. In a lead bag right now, to be sure, but I had it available. Of course, if Kal-El knew about it, and if he ever wanted to, he could take it away from me faster than I could blink.

Nevertheless, having it gave me a sense of security. I'd vowed never to be without a weapon again. And this was my only possible weapon against a Kryptonian.

Kal-El broke my train of thought. "OK. Let's head out US-54 to Kingman." He folded the map closed and put it back in his pocket. Turning to me with that hesitant half-smile again, he asked, "Ready to open the door?"

I nodded. He reached for the door handle at the same time as I, and our gloved hands touched briefly. Both of us drew back.

"After you," I gestured.

"Uh, actually, why don't I get the packs and you open the door?" he stammered. Before I could say anything he was bending to the floor and picking up his heavy pack, arranging one strap on his right shoulder. Then he moved closer to me (ignoring my cautious few steps back away from him) and picked up my pack, putting his left arm through the shoulder strap. Looking at that, my back rebelled at the thought of carrying those weights in such an off-center position.

Kal-El, of course, had no problem. He nodded at me politely. He stood between me and the hall back to the base. I sighed and opened the door to the outside.

As ever, the cold hit me like a physical blow. My nasal passages dried out immediately. I resisted the urge to take a deep breath, knowing it would leave me coughing. I pulled my scarf tighter around my lower face. Kal-El followed me out the door and again, I left him plenty of space.

He just stood. Both of us were silent for a minute, then he asked, "OK?" His voice was again low and gentle. I'd made it pretty obvious that I didn't want to be around him. Both of us knew it. And both of us knew we had to work together to do the job that Lex had given us. Aside from refusing, which was tantamount to resigning – and really, where else did I have to go? What else could I do? – there was no alternative.

This time he didn't step closer to me. Instead, he just waited while I argued with the primitive part of myself. Finally winning, I slowly neared him. Despite my intellectual knowledge, once again I couldn't help my racing heart and quick breathing. I knew that Kal-El detected those signs of fear, but he said nothing, just stood silently.

"OK," I said. I was near enough him that he could pick me up. He scooped me up easily, supporting me with one arm below my legs, one arm behind my back. I looked up and caught him looking at me with….was it tenderness? Our eyes met and he jerked his gaze away.

"Could you please put your head closer to my chest?" he asked. Only politeness was in his tone. He must have picked up on my indignant gasp, because he quickly explained, "The closer in you are, the easier it is to extend my aura, and the faster we can move."

Well, if that mean less Kryptonian-human contact time, I was all for it. I leaned my head onto his chest, wriggling just a little in his arms as we jointly adjusted my position. Even through my hat and his coat, I could hear (and feel) his heartbeat, a strong _ba-dump, ba-dump_ almost reassuring in its regularity.

"OK," Kal-El said. "Last check. Are you OK?"

No. I wasn't OK. I was voluntarily entrusting myself to a Kryptonian. To a member of a race who couldn't be trusted. And we were going off alone together, with no one to help me, no other human to talk to.

I choked out the words. "I'm OK."

He nodded his head, realized I couldn't see it with my face turned to his chest. "Let's go, then."

I closed my eyes. His heartbeat accelerated. The steady one-beat-per-second pace I'd been hearing suddenly became a regular purr, a noise like a motor. I could hear a whooshing noise as well. Strangely enough, I felt no wind. Despite the cold weather, I was warm. _And safe_, my traitorous mind added.

Where did that come from? I wondered. No one was safe around a Kryptonian.

Kal-El's heart slowed again and the whooshing noise stopped. I wished I could check my watch. I thought the whole episode had taken thirty seconds - or less.

I opened my eyes cautiously as Kal-El's arms moved to set me on the ground. I looked around. We were in what I would have called a middle-class neighborhood of single-family homes. Lawns would have been mowed, shrubs trimmed, cars neatly parked in garages. Now, branches from the dead trees littered the once-pristine street and yards. Many of the houses had broken windows. The dull dry grass crunched underfoot.

We were far from our base in Metropolis. In that instant, I understood in my gut the Kryptonian power. How could humans fight against something that could travel a hundred miles in seconds?

Kal-El turned his head, scanning the neighborhood. There was an intent expression on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"I can hear heartbeats," he said absently. "I think they're over that way." He pointed down to the corner, and began walking. Automatically I followed him. As he reached the corner, he cocked his head again, and confidently turned right. He stopped in mid-block, at a Craftsman-style bungalow with a big front porch.

The upholstered porch furniture was amazingly intact. The windows had been boarded up and to me the house looked as deserted as all the others on the lonely block.

"There are people inside," Kal-El said confidently. He began to stride up the front walk.

The gunshot caught us both by surprise. I saw goosedown drift out of the hole that the bullet made in Kal-El's jacket. Whoever was firing was a good shot. If Kal-El had been human, he'd have been dead with a bullet through his heart.

Kal-El stopped walking. He thumbed the hole in his coat. He squinted. "Looks like they're very well armed," he said.

"Why didn't you check that out first?" I snapped.

Another gunshot boomed and I automatically flinched. When I looked up, I saw Kal-El contemptuously drop a bullet onto the ground.

"We're friends!" he shouted. "Don't shoot!"

Another crack of gunfire. I hadn't taken my eyes off Kal-El since the last shot. Right before I heard the report, I saw his arm _blur_. Then, once again, he was dropping a bullet on the ground.

"OK. I guess they're not interested," Kal-El muttered. "Martha?"

"Yes?" I said, startled that he'd said my name.

Kal-El didn't take his eyes off the house, but there was another _blur._ I saw our packs sitting on the sidewalk, Kal-El standing in front of them (and in front of me) like a guard.

"Could you please get in my pack and take out two cans of soup?" he asked. "And one of those fliers from the front pocket?"

"OK." Now was not the time to argue. I took off my gloves and shoved them into my pockets. I wrestled with the fastenings and zippers of his pack, finally managing to get it open. Kal-El hadn't been kidding – there was a pantry's-worth of canned goods in there. I unzipped the front pocket and there were the fliers I'd come to know so well on my trip to the East Coast – the ones that began _Come To Metropolis – Take Earth Back! _

Two more shots rang out while I dug in Kal-El's pack. This time the shots were close together. Kal-El caught both bullets. There was a momentary silence while I closed up his pack, my fingers clumsy in the cold.

"Set them down," Kal-El said, referring to the two Campbell's Soup cans I held. Cream of Mushroom and Cheddar Broccoli. I wondered how those had ever made it through the long famine.

I carefully set down the cans, putting the flier underneath them. Just then, a barrage of shots rang from the house. The inhabitants must have pulled out their rapid-fire arsenal. I curled my lip in scorn – all they were doing was wasting ammunition. Feeling the cold again, I hastily shoved my hands back into my gloves.

"Martha?" Kal-El asked, his tone serious.

"Yes?" I wanted to flinch from the gunfire. I couldn't see Kal-El's arms at all. They were one big blur.

"They're going to have to reload. As soon as they stop, I'm going to get our packs and pick you up and leave, OK?"

I could hardly hear him. But this was no place to hang around. "OK."

And with that, there was a momentary break in the gunfire. And I heard the whooshing and saw the world pass by in a blur.

Kal-El set me down. It had only been a few seconds he'd held me this time. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I felt shaky with adrenaline and reaction. "I'm fine," I repeated.

We were in a similar neighborhood, but I knew we must be miles away from Kingman. I walked away a few steps. "Not a very nice welcome."

Kal-El's face twisted in a sardonic smile. "Not the worst welcome I've had," he said. He squeezed his hands together. Opening them, I saw he held an irregular lump of gray metal.

I wasn't going to respond to that. If he was referring to the way we had put kryptonite handcuffs on him, he should know that it was for our own safety.

He sighed. "I got a lot of this when I was traveling with Chloe. People aren't very trusting anymore. The Golden Rule has now become, "Do unto others _before_ they do unto you." He turned pensive. "Didn't you see this on your trip out East?"

"Well, no, actually. Bruce had teams that did the initial contacts….he and Lex felt that I was better suited for explaining, negotiating, you know, once people got together."

Kal-El shrugged. "You were lucky."

I felt a tinge of anger. "I've seen a lot of death and destruction."

Kal-El looked at me curiously. "Yes," he said finally. "I guess you have." We stared into each other's eyes for a moment. He looked away, kneading the metal in his hands absently. I stared at the sight of lead being molded like putty. He caught my wide-eyed expression and hastily shoved the lump into the pocket of his parka.

He looked away – was he embarrassed? "The next report is over in Medicine Lodge."

"That's a fair distance away." Why did I say that? Delaying action, I realized.

"Only about sixty-five miles."

Of course. We'd just traveled about fifty miles in a few seconds. Distance meant nothing to Kryptonians. Whereas, now, for us, sixty-five miles was a four-day trek. The historical tyranny of distance reigned again.

Kal-El broke into my thoughts. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Once again I forced myself to advance to him. Once again, Kal-El gathered me up. And once again, I heard the whoosh and saw the blur, felt Kal-El's heart speed into that inhuman vibration.

He repeated the listening pose and led us to a squat three-story brick apartment building.

"Please do the X-ray thing first this time," I said sarcastically.

"Yeah, that would be a good idea," Kal-El said absently, not responding to my dig. Based on his squinty look, I guessed he was already using his special vision.

"Second floor, this side," he muttered. "Older couple. Some kids." He strode confidently to the outer door, not in the least bothered by carrying two packs. He jiggled at the door and it opened.

"Did you just break that?"

"It was unlocked," Kal-El assured me. At my disbelieving expression, he said, "Really!"

OK, a moot point now.

He led me down a twilight hallway. Some light diffused in from a window at the end of the hall, but like all sunlight since the Kryptonians had dampened our sun (or at least changed the Earth's absorption of sunlight), that light was gray and dim. Kal-El swore that his cousin had corrected the problem but I hadn't seen improvement yet.

He set down the packs and knocked at a door near the end of the hall. I was surprised when the door opened to the limits of a chain. The person inside warily said, "Yes?"

Kal-El gestured to me, making me responsible for replying. Gee, thanks a lot. I scrambled for words, then blurted out, "Hello. We're from Metropolis and we'd like to talk with you about things that have happened there." Could that be any more lame, I thought.

"What?" Still distrust in the voice, but mixed with a little curiosity.

Go for it. "The Kryptonians are dead –"_ well, most of them, anyway, _"Earth belongs to the humans again, the climate will be going back to normal, and we're trying to get people to come to Metropolis join with us in the rebuilding."

The door closed. I looked at Kal-El, nonplussed.

Before he could say anything the door opened. A balding, middle-aged man said, "Hello!" His beaming smile was infectious and I found myself smiling back.

"Come in, come in," the man said, giving an impression of bustling even when he stood still. He gestured us in. Kal-El made a slight motion, indicating that I should go first. I hesitated just a moment, the memory of gunfire at our last stop making me a little cautious. As if Kal-El read my thoughts, he nodded at me – just a bit, not enough to be noticed by our host, who had turned and was heading into the room.

"I'm Bernie Klein," our greeter said. "We don't see a lot of people around here…." The tone made it a question.

"Martha Clark," I said, ignoring his statement and extending my hand.

"Clark Kent," Kal-El said, copying me.

"A lot of Clarks there," Klein said briskly as he shook our hands in turn.

Kal-El and I locked gazes momentarily. "Just a coincidence," I said. Kal-El said nothing. I could feel him restraining himself.

"Mr. Klein," Kal-El began, "we're glad to see you. I think this is the only house in Medicine Lodge with electrical power?"

"Yes!" Klein said, smiling. "Call me Bernie, please." We nodded as he started talking. "You're probably wondering how we do it?" Without giving us a chance to answer, he went on. "We started with a multi-fuel generator, and we scavenged the city for burnables. But then I was able to set up our solar panels, and – did you notice the wind turbines?" He seemed proud.

Actually, I _hadn't _noticed the wind turbines – traveling with Kal-El, although quick, didn't allow much time for sight-seeing.

"Yes," Kal-El said, irritating me. We set down our packs, and Kal-El stretched. There was a note of wonder in his voice as he asked Klein, "_You_ got those going?"

"Why, yes," the older man replied. He seemed pleased that someone had recognized his achievements. A tinge of familiarity with his type whispered at me – this was a techno-geek. Scorned, laughed at in pre-Invasion times, now sadly needed and hard to find.

"There were a few fabricating issues, but once we got the machine tools in the basement all set up, no problem! We did have a little trouble getting the vanes just right…." He babbled on. This was a man who knew his stuff, all right.

Kal-El and I shared a look. It was curious – this was the first time we'd been right on the same page, all together, two minds with a single thought. _This man would be a great asset to the team in Metropolis. _

"Bernie!" A scolding voice caught our attention. A woman advanced from the door which presumably led into a kitchen. "We have guests! You haven't offered them tea!" Her alert bearing and the fact that her right hand stayed hidden in the pocket of her apron made me suspect that she wasn't as harmless as she'd like to portray herself. I saw Kal-El squint slightly and I wished that we'd set up some sort of code where he could warn me of weapons or other dangers. It was a safe bet that the woman had a gun in her pocket.

"Gloria Tanner," she said, coming to us. "You're from Metropolis?"

We introduced ourselves and I gave what I'd come to think of as the standard speech. Zod is overthrown, the world belongs to the humans, come to Metropolis base for the renaissance, blah blah blah. Bernie shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Gloria looked uncertain. She plastered on a fake smile. She needed work at that – if she'd been a Metropolis lawyer like I was, she'd have been a much better dissembler.

"You just sit yourselves down there, and we'll get you some tea," she said. "You'll join us for tea, won't you?"

Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Bernie Klein by the arm and marched him through the door, out of our sight.

Kal-El got that squinty look again.

"What?" I couldn't help asking.

"She's yelling at Bernie," he muttered, "telling him he wasn't supposed to open the door to anyone….Now she's going in another room….There's a man with a shotgun coming into the kitchen….She's putting the kettle on….Bernie's saying that we're inside now…..neither of them are listening to him…oh! There's five kids in the next room over!...Gloria just went in and told the kids to stay quiet….looks like the guy with the shotgun is going to stay in the kitchen…..try not to annoy Bernie or Gloria too much."

Kal-El said that last with just a tinge of sarcasm and I flushed. "Well, if it comes to it, I'm sure you'll protect me," I replied, just as sarcastically.

The needling failed when he gazed at me with his full attention. "Yes, I would." No irony or sarcasm at all in the words – just a plain statement of fact. I flushed again. I hated him. I hated when he treated me like his mother. I hated him when he used his Kryptonian powers. I hated him when he wouldn't fight back.

Gloria came back in, followed by Bernie, and carrying an actual tray with teapot and teacups on it. Kal-El stood as she entered the room and I belatedly followed. We sat, and she poured.

"I'm sorry I don't have sugar or lemon," Gloria said.

"I understand," I said, and I did. Sometimes, the little things that were missing made my current situation hardest to bear.

"Ms Tanner," I began, "I know that you must be concerned about us…" I went into a longer explanation. "Please, take these as our gift and an expression of goodwill." I motioned to Kal-El and he got the hint, rummaging in his pack and pulling out some cans of food.

Despite their enviable situation – theirs was only the third home I'd come across in the last two months that actually had electricity, heat, and light – both Bernie's and Gloria's eyes widened at the sight of food. For my part, I was glad to see that Kal-El was dumping the canned beets. I hated beets.

Of course, in the past three years, I'd eaten a lot of things I hated and had been grateful to have _something _to eat. Even beets.

"That is very generous of you, Ms Clark," Gloria replied. She seemed to come to a decision. "Please, wait here." She got up and headed back to the kitchen, taking the canned goods with her.

Kal-El took the opportunity to talk with Bernie. "Doctor Klein – I'm assuming you are a doctor – "

"Oh yes," Bernie began. "I started with an interest in neurology and then I got into making prosthetics and motion aids for the stroke-impaired and spinal cord-injured. Then I had to get my engineering degree to work on the manufacturing of the prosthetics." He looked a little rueful. "Of course, in the last few years, I've had a rather rushed course in hydroponic gardening, greenhouse building, and basic electrical engineering." He gestured around the room. "There are plenty of electrical supplies still at the hardware stores in town, you know. All you have to do is put them together and get a power supply."

He made it sound so simple. It probably was, for him. It reminded me how my car mechanic used to say: "Everything's simple when you know what you're doing and you have all the tools."

Bernie continued to ramble on. "In fact, I was kind of surprised that you found us. I thought our insulation was good enough – " he gestured at the boarded-up windows. Despite the electric lights, the room had that gloominess that came with being totally enclosed. "I didn't think we leaked light or heat?"

Kal-El and I looked at each other again. Neither of us wanted to admit that it was Kryptonian hearing that had detected heartbeats.

"We did pick up a slight heat signature from the satellites," I lied. "And of course, once we got in town, the wind turbines were a clue that someone was here."

"You still have satellites?" Bernie leaned forward in excitement.

Whatever he was going to say next was swallowed up by Gloria's return. My mouth watered at the sight of what she held on her tray this time.

A tomato. A glorious, ripe, red-orange, juicy tomato. One little piece of vine was still attached. I automatically swallowed. I flashed a glance at Kal-el – he was doing the same.

Gloria sat down and began delicately carving the tomato, putting slices on tiny plates. Dead silence accompanied her almost surgical dissection. She gave Kal-El and myself each a plate, then did the same for herself and Bernie.

The four of us gave proper respect, remaining silent as we all slowly chewed and ate. The flavor explosion, the mix of tight skin and juicy pulp, the tiny seeds – it was an almost orgasmic experience. I hadn't had a fresh tomato in three years. I almost cried as I ate it.

"We'd like to have you all at Metropolis Base," I said at the end. "If you want to be around more people…."

Gloria looked wistful. Bernie looked interested.

"We can arrange transport. We need people like you. If there are any kids…." I _knew _there were kids, thanks to Kal-El looking, but how could I explain that? "...there's a school for them. We're back on a money economy and I can guarantee that you'd be well-paid." I leaned forward. "We could really use your help."

I almost had them when Kal-El broke in.

"They do work with a Kryptonian, you know."

The _idiot. _Didn't he know when to shut up? I could see Gloria's gaze shuttering, and Bernie's walls going up.

"A Kryptonian?" Bernie asked dubiously.

"He helped them overthrow General Zod." The big oaf just wouldn't stop talking. "He's on their side."

Gloria raised her eyebrows skeptically. Bernie, with what I suspected was an intractable curiosity, started asking questions.

"Really? What exactly happened there? Were you there?"

Kal-El almost shuffled. "Um, yes. I was there. Um, Lex Luthor and a bunch of Resistance fighters went up to the Arctic, where Zod had his, um, lair. There were actually two Kryptonians on the human side, a man and a woman. The woman died during the attack, but she and Luthor's team were able to defeat Zod and Zod's henchmen." Kal-El swallowed convulsively. "It was a hard-fought thing, but we won in the end."

I thought about mocking Kal-El later for actually using the word "henchmen", but at his latter words I decided against that. I hadn't been there, after all. Lex had figured that a non-meta, ordinary human was too vulnerable to go up against the Kryptonians, and he was right.

Gloria nodded solemnly. "I'd heard that Zod was dead…you know how rumors go around….but you were actually there?"

Kal-El bobbed his head. "I was there."

Bernie looked fascinated. "This is very interesting. Clark, did you happen to know what the Kryptonians did to change the Earth's climate?"

Kal-El got shifty-eyed. "No, not really. It was something to do with their technology – the woman Kryptonian on the human side reversed the process, whatever it was. She said, before she died, that the Earth's climate should be coming back to normal."

"Hasn't yet," I muttered.

"It takes _time,_" Kal-El muttered back. The byplay was not lost on Gloria.

"So, Clark," she said, businesslike, "you know this _Kryptonian_?" Her tone made it as if she was asking, _You know this dangerous rattlesnake?_

"Um, yes," Kal-El said. Jeez, he was such a bad liar. Even Bernie was picking up that something was off. "He's a good guy. You don't have to worry about him."

"What do you think, Martha?" Gloria turned her gimlet eye on me. Suddenly I understood why this woman had survived the genocide. Her outward softness concealed an inner core of steel. I had been like that once, before….before I had been broken. Now I welded my broken core together with white-hot anger and pretended I was still strong.

"Well…." I was reluctant. "Um….he's been working there for about three months. I haven't really seen him all that much, just a few days."

Gloria picked up on my evasiveness. "More specific?"

"He, uh, hasn't hurt anybody all the time I've known him," I said. Then, the words dragging out of me, the words I couldn't stop myself from saying, "but he is a Kryptonian." I managed to shut my mouth before I went on, _I don't think we can trust him. _It didn't matter. Gloria and Bernie understood damning with faint praise. And they understood what "Kryptonian" meant. It meant death, hecatombs, corpses beyond Stalinist dreams.

"It's OK!" Kal-El exclaimed, trying to salvage something. "He's using his powers for good! He's trying to help Earth people!" He gave me a sarcastic look. "He's a tame Kryptonian!"

Gloria was polite. "We'll take your offer under advisement." We both knew that was an acceptable way of saying, _Not in a million years. _Bernie looked a little more interested – I had him pegged as the classic geek, lots of intelligence but no brains. If we had him alone, I had no doubt we could convince him to come to Metropolis, if only to study the "tame Kryptonian." But Gloria was a tougher audience. She mouthed social platitudes as she maneuvered us out the door and onto the street, very smoothly, very professionally. We'd been thrown out – nicely. But still thrown out, given the heave-ho, the bum's rush, bag and baggage. The door locked behind us with a final click.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: Be advised that this chapter contains violence. The rating here changes to at least a PG-13 or even an R. _

_

* * *

_

We walked – or more accurately, stomped - two blocks away before Kal-El started the argument I knew was coming. I wasn't going to back down. I wasn't going to cower. If he started the argument, I'd finish it. He swung down his backpack and I put down mine, too – the better to gesticulate with. "Way to go, _partner_," he said sarcastically.

"I was only telling the truth!" I snapped. "_You're _the one who brought up Kryptonians in the first place!"

"They needed to know. And you could have backed me up!" he turned to face me, towering over me. My heart stuttered, pounding in my chest as my mouth grew dry. I didn't back away. I was proud of that.

"It's the truth!"

"What? That I'm Kryptonian? Yeah, it is," Kal-El said disgustedly. "But the way you said it, it was like I eat babies for breakfast."

"What _do_ you eat for breakfast?" I asked, suddenly curious and startled out of my mad. I hadn't seem him eat at all, actually.

"Whatever's available," he said shortly. "Lately, that's been nothing."

"Oh."

"We needed the cans of food for this trip."

"Oh."

Kal-El sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Is that the way everyone feels?" His voice made it obvious. He knew it was a rhetorical question.

"Well, you can't deny that Zod and the others have made "Kryptonian" a dirty word," I said cautiously. I couldn't change my feelings. If Kal-El was looking for someone to go all rah-rah when he pulled the "tame Kryptonian" thing, he'd better find a new partner.

We just couldn't trust Kryptonians. That's just the way it stood, the facts. I couldn't lie well enough to make the opposite sound plausible.

Since I had to travel with Kal-El, and since he was my transportation, I had thought it might be more politic to avoid, um, _disagreements_ with him. Too bad I'd broken that resolve right away. It would be better if I let this argument lie there. I could do it. I wasn't Lois Lane. I didn't have to have the other person admit I was right all the time.

Kal-El sighed again, interrupting my meanderings. "God, and I thought I had it tough in the _other_ world…." He said it softly, but I heard it anyway.

Bitterness came across me. The other world. The world where Zod hadn't landed, where humans were still alive, where there was sunshine and summer and green growing things. The world where no one knew what Kryptonians were. Where aliens were something to be laughed at as digitally manipulated, rubber-masked, costume-wearing humans on the front page of supermarket tabloids.

The world where, supposedly, I was Kal-El's mother. Reflexively my mind skittered away. I thought about it, late at night, sometimes. I pushed it away every time. Thinking of that brought back memories of my time in Lowell County, with Jonathan….._No. _

"Well, you're here on this world," I pointed out sharply.

He stood still a long moment. "Yes. I am." He sounded just as unhappy as I was.

"You're like a chimpanzee, you know," I blurted out.

"Excuse me?"

"I read about it. There were these people in California that got a chimp as a baby, and they raised it, and it lived with them for years. It wore clothes and it drank Coca-Cola out of a glass, and it had its own bed, and it even did TV commercials."

"Uh-huh," Kal-El said flatly.

"And, one day, out of the blue, it attacked. It bit off the wife's thumb, and it ripped the husband's face and took out his eye, and pulled off most of the guy's fingers, and broke his back. For no apparent reason. They did something that triggered its instincts, and blammo."

Different expressions crawled over Kal-El's face. Distaste, weariness, anger. He finally settled for careful amusement.

"So the moral of the story is….don't get a chimp for a pet?"

I stared at him witheringly.

He gave up trying to be cute. "I don't know if I care all that much for being compared to a chimp."

"You know what I mean."

He lost his air of manufactured amusement and turned serious. "I'm not a chimp. I'm not a slave to my instincts."

"Are you sure? Because that's the way I think of you – I mean Kryptonians. They look human, but one day – blammo. And then someone's dead."

He turned to me, stared me in the eye. "Martha. I swear I will never willingly kill someone. I will not hurt anyone." A tinge of bitterness. "Besides, you all have kryptonite. You could take me down when you choose." He studied me. "You're just trying to decide if you should take pre-emptive action, right?"

Honesty for honesty. I shrugged. "There's been a lot of discussion about it. I feel that Lex and the others have been seduced by the prospect of having you and your abilities at their…"

"At their command?" he said sharply.

"At their service."

"But you feel I'm dangerous."

"You are."

"Why don't you pull out your kryptonite right now and take care of me, then?" he challenged me.

I sighed. Why didn't I? Why hadn't I? "Because I agreed to this stupid mission, and you're on it too. Because we voted not to, and even though I feel differently, I'm going to stick by our vote. And because you're innocent till proven guilty."

He snorted. "Glad to see that the lawyer is obeying the law."

I pushed on past him, wanting to walk quickly in my fury. "Yes! And lucky for you!"

"And now you're stuck out here with me."

"Yeah." I added with a touch of black humor, "Missed my opportunity."

Kal-El gave an unwilling chuckle too. He put a hand on my upper arm. I stopped and stared at him till he removed it.

"Martha."

"Yes?"

"I know you don't care for me. Believe me, after seeing this world – " he gestured around at the gray sky, the dirty snow, " – I can understand your distrust." He took a deep breath. "But, like you said, we are out here together. And I swear to you that I will not hurt you." He smiled sardonically. "At least on this trip."

"Well, thanks for that, anyway," I said, recognizing that he was holding out an olive branch, and irritated with myself for saying things so plainly. Lawyers shouldn't do that. "Not on this trip?"

"Sorry. Just being sarcastic there."

"That was in very poor taste." My heart was pounding again as I affected a cool and unruffled exterior. Was Kal-El giving me a veiled threat?

"I'm sorry, Martha." Now Kal-El looked at me in all seriousness. "I will protect you as best I can. In my mind, we are partners on this mission. I will put all my abilities at your disposal. I'll stand by you one hundred percent to complete this mission. I'll follow your lead." He smiled. "But I do promise to argue with you when I think you're making a mistake."

I snorted.

"But most of all, Martha," Kal-El said, eyes earnest, "I will see you safely home. That's a promise." He shrugged and took on a lighter tone. "After that, of course, things are up to you. I hope you won't be pulling out the kryptonite back at the base."

I looked down.

He sighed one last time. He squared his shoulders.

"Are you ready to go on?" Now his voice was coolly professional. He'd chosen to let go of the argument too.

I made a show of pulling out our map and pointing to our next destination. "Dodge City. OK."

Kal-El waited until I'd folded the map back up and carefully stowed it in my pocket. I was grateful. It gave some time for my heart to slow down. Of course, it would speed right back up when Kal-El leaned over me to pick me up, so it was kind of pointless. But at least Kal-El was making the effort.

I gave a sour smile. The "tame Kryptonian" did have some manners. And, according to him, it was _me, _me in the other world, who'd beaten them into him.

"OK." As he gathered up our packs, the dispute stayed between us. It was no secret that I distrusted and feared him. We'd managed to avoid each other up to now, being in different parts of the country. Now Kal-El could see for himself how I felt. The irony, of course, is that we'd agreed to go on this mission and we _had _to work together. Why _had_ I ever said yes to Lex? It was too late now for second thoughts but I kept on having them.

As Kal-El picked me up, and the world blurred once again, I thought of how crazy I was. I said I didn't trust him, and I didn't. And yet, here I was, trusting him. Trusting him to carry me, to not crush me, to bodyguard me. And trusting him enough to argue with him, not cowering like a good little Earthling slave. Trusting him not to hurt me when I disagreed with him – not like General Zod.

I chuckled forlornly. What malign fate put me together with a guy I couldn't trust, and forced me to trust him?

* * *

We made several more stops. Two were the garden-variety survivors-who'd-hunkered-down, the ones who lived by scavenging. Both had managed to rig up generators and run indoor gardens. One set, the group with children, seemed much more interested in our pitch than the others. I mentioned it to Kal-El.

"I've seen that a lot," he said somberly. "The way things are, it takes the resources of what used to be a whole town to support one family. There's only so much indoor gardening they can do." He looked abashed. "And they've had to stay hidden."

_Because Zod and his gang would swoop down and exterminate anyone who wasn't hidden, or wasn't a collaborator, _I filled in the blanks silently.

Kal-El went on. "So, if it means a better life for their children, of course they're interested. Other people, a school, a library, a job where they're not working twenty-four seven…."

"I noticed that you mentioned the Kryptonian thing again," I said delicately.

"Yes."

"Why? You know it makes them less likely to come to Metropolis base. And we need those people." I pointed out the obvious.

Kal-El sighed. "Because they have to know ahead of time. It's not like it's a secret. Hey, I'm Kryptonian, and I'm at Metropolis base. Everyone knows that."

"Why do they have to know ahead of time?"

We were walking along another deserted, litter-strewn street. Kal-El stopped and turned to me. "You don't know, do you?"

"What?"

He scuffed his feet. "I don't go walking alone in the hallways at Metropolis base."

"Um?"

"I've tried to introduce myself to every person there. I heat up the water so everyone has hot showers and we save fuel in cooking. When I go out, I always try to come back with extra food for the kids. I have never hurt anyone there in the least." His voice took on a sarcastic tone. "I remain pleasant and cheerful at all times." His gaze caught mine. "And if I go walking alone, someone will ambush me with Kryptonite in the hallways."

"Oh."

"There are a lot of people who don't like the fact that a Kryptonian is still….running around." _Still alive_ is what he didn't say, and what we both heard. _Like you_ is the other thing he didn't say, and the other thing we both understood too.

"The first time, Lex had sent someone to check up on me. He'd heard the grumbling. He's got his finger on the pulse of the community."

That sounded like Lex.

"The second time, I was stupid. I didn't think people would actually….do that, and I let myself get caught. I was lucky that a… friend found me, took away the Kryptonite before I died." Another sardonic smile. "So, _Mrs. Kent, _although I'm your bodyguard out here, you were actually my protector back there at Metropolis base."

My mind whirled. I hated him, didn't trust him, yes, but a tawdry, anonymous attack on one who had promised to do no harm just seemed….non-sporting.

On the other hand, of course, it wasn't like Zod and the other Kryptonians had been big believers in fair play. I could argue "pre-emptive strike" and be easy in my mind. Maybe.

"So," Kal-El continued, "I figure it's better to let prospective immigrants know _before _they get there, before they hear all the gossip. And," he said, looking marginally more cheerful, "once they realize that they've already _met _the Kryptonian – that he was the guy that came and recruited them for Metropolis base – then it's a little harder to think of him as the big bad boogeyman."

I couldn't help but smile a little at that, involuntarily. Kal-El caught the motion and he grinned back. It was true – I'd been in a tizzy about having to work with this Kryptonian, and now, after only a few hours, he'd soothed me. I still disliked and feared him, but not so much. At least I wasn't having panic attacks when he came near me now.

He _did _have an engaging personality. Every time he whizzed us to the next town over, he'd bring us to a halt several blocks from where the survivors were holed up, avoiding witnesses to his speed ability. Despite my efforts to remain aloof, he'd inveigled me into conversations as we walked to the nests. At first strictly business, he'd managed to get me speculating on what the survivors could do at the base, where they would best fit in, what use could we make of their skills. I was a member of the Council and it was our job to decide such things. I realized that Kal-El must be in Lex's confidence to dispute with me so knowledgeably. He had his opinions too.

"So," I said, "you've not spent a lot of time at Metropolis base?"

Kal-El nodded. "You can see why." He glanced over at me as we tramped through the deserted streets. Dirty snow, once-fallen, never refreshed, never melted, covered the once-bustling neighborhood. Houses with broken windows leered out, the gaps like eyes with dark circles under them. "I've tried to spend my time out in the field."

Probably a wise decision, I thought. He would be assigned to people who would have a vested interest in him and his powers, and he'd be exposed to sunlight, such as it was, filtering through perpetually gray skies. Metropolis Base's underground location kept it warmer, certainly, but the absence of even the dilute sunlight was keenly felt by many, including myself. I'd had what amounted to a permanent seasonal affective disorder since the alien invasion. Of course, there were other reasons for being depressed….the almost-complete destruction of our world being the major one.

We turned the corner and neared our destination. Kal-El made the squinty movement that I'd already learned meant that he was activating his X-ray vision. Did he have to squint like that? I asked myself. Certainly he could use it at any time – how would I know if he was? On the other hand, he was obviously no voyeur – even after a few hours of working with him, I could tell that. My worries about privacy had faded somewhat. Of course, he could still hear everything – my heart, my breathing – my body held no aural secrets from him.

He stopped, and put out an arm. I halted.

"We won't go there," Kal-El announced.

"Why not?" I asked, curious but also a little angry. I was in charge on this mission, that's what Lex had said, and that's what Kal-El had agreed to.

"It's a cannibal lair," Kal-El said matter-of-factly.

I felt a sudden queasiness. He saw me turn pale and quickly put an arm around my waist to support me. It was the first time he'd touched me without asking permission beforehand.

"Haven't you seen those before?" he asked, almost incredulously. "You went all through the East Coast…."

I swallowed hard. "No. I guess I'm realizing now how much work Bruce's teams actually did before I got there."

Kal-El looked at me sympathetically. "You're lucky you missed it," he said. "When Chloe and I traveled the Midwest, we probably saw two or three a week."

I felt a little stronger, and Kal-El, detecting it, pulled his arm away. "There's been a whole lot of cannibalism," he said grimly.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"We'd usually mark the locations, and Lex's group would follow up and arrest the perpetrators, take them back for trial at Metropolis base. If the jury felt there were extenuating circumstances….." Kal-El trailed off. "I never served on those juries," he said softly. "I'm not human. I live off the sun….at least mostly. I never got that hungry, never got that desperate…."

"You're lucky," I said sharply. Inside I knew I was lucky too. I'd met up with Lex and Chloe – the Resistance hadn't been easy, but we'd never had to resort to eating human flesh. I'd been desperate before, but not for food. And, from what Kal-El was saying now, I saw what kind of horrors Bruce had shielded me from.

"OK. I'm in agreement. Don't go visiting the cannibals." I said it choppily.

"OK." Kal-El stood, squinting and staring at the outwardly innocuous house. Based on his grim expression, there were probably a lot of things I really didn't want to see in that house. "Shall we go on?"


	6. Chapter 6

I checked my wristwatch. "We've got to be in Denver – well, actually Evergreen – shortly. Do you think we have time for another contact?"

Kal-El smiled. "Up to you. I think so." He looked like he was trying to restrain a chuckle. "Martha," he said, "you're in a situation here where you can spend all your time on the diplomacy. Travel time is a minimum."

I didn't know how to respond. I was surprised he'd called me _Martha _– throughout the day, we'd only rarely addressed each other by name, and when we had done so, it was _Kal-El_ and _Mrs. Kent._ Each of us disliked what the other called us. I did it to annoy him, and I knew he was doing the same thing back. Was Kal-El going to bend?

"Um, yeah," I mumbled. I'd just been thinking that. Of course transit time was a minimum. Of course it would be, when you had Kryptonian powers. And, if you didn't, traveling was arduous and dangerous.

"We could make another contact," Kal-El said. "I know there's a lead in Lamar. But would you prefer to get to Evergreen early?"

I thought a moment. "That would be good." I always appreciated preparation time. Just because our to-do list on this trip was huge didn't mean that I shouldn't prepare properly for the big job. The fast transport had, well, not really _confused_ me, but it had gotten me out of my regular habits. When I went with Bruce, I'd have at least a few hours each time to think about my plan of attack. "Yes. Let's get there early."

"OK. Are you all set?" Kal-El asked, as he had done throughout the day. We both looked back once again at the anthropophagous lair, and resolutely turned our backs to it.

"Yes." I stepped forward, handed him my pack again, and he swept me up.

We came to a halt and I gasped at the landscape. Despite having numerous opportunities in my previous life, I'd never seen the Rockies. Now, there they were for my viewing pleasure. I was also glad I hadn't had to hike up to where we were now. Even though the paved roads were clear and the slope moderate, we were the proverbial mile high.

"I thought you might like the view," Kal-El said, smiling a little.

"It's amazing." I stood and looked. Even with snow and frost over the land, it was beautiful. A cutting wind blew past us and I shivered, despite my winter gear. For a minute I was depressed. It was like being in the first Narnia book, where the White Witch ruled and 'it was always winter, and never Christmas.' Unfortunately for Earth, that was all too true these days.

Of course, that's what we were trying to change, and today's mission was a start. I sighed and checked my watch. Plenty of time left. I spent a few more minutes looking around and then said, "I'm ready."

"OK." This time I didn't react as he came near me – apparently I'd become used to traveling via Kryptonian, faster than the eye could see.

This time, Kal-El put me down behind some shrubs. We were on the grounds of the Pike School, a private academy in the town. The school itself was imposing – a two-story, brick building with surprisingly unbroken windows. I peered between the branches and saw a man standing at the main doors.

"This is the meeting place?" Kal-El asked, in a tone that wasn't quite a question. He knew as well as I did what the rendezvous point was. I saw him get his squinting expression as he stared at the school.

"It's deserted," Kal-El informed me. "Just the one guy."

"That's a little unusual."

"Why?"

"Well, whenever I've been in talks like this before, the other party usually meets us on their own home turf. It's territoriality, you know. Gives them an edge." It was true. Humans were no less territorial than great cats – we were just more subtle about it. Usually. "Do you see anything of concern?"

Kal-El squinted again, scanning the school for a longer period this time. "No. Just empty classrooms."

A rumble caught my attention. My eyes widened at the sight of an actual automobile rolling up the school's drive. A blue Jeep carrying three men pulled to a halt at the front entrance. The three men got out and greeted the man at the doorway.

"Well, that's something I haven't seen for some time," I muttered.

"Me neither," Kal-El murmured behind me.

Who drove nowadays? Of course, Denver had been one of the first cities to be depopulated by the Kryptonians. Maybe there were more unemptied gas tanks than in Metropolis.

The three men went inside the school building, leaving the first man at his post at the front door.

"What're they doing?" I asked Kal-El. Strange how quickly I could get used to his special abilities, as long as he was using them to my advantage.

"They're just checking out the rooms," Kal-El said, squinting. "They're talking about which room is best…..looks like they've picked the first-grade room…."

"Are they saying anything about conditions? About what's happened to Michael Carter? Anything related to our mission?"

He squinted some more, took on a faraway expression. "No."

The three men came back out to the stoop, joined the fourth man, and assumed waiting postures.

"Looks like they're counting on us being on time," I muttered. That seemed optimistic. These days, travel was dangerous and chancy. Of course, they knew that I was Lex's diplomat, the equivalent of the Secretary of State, so they had probably figured that he'd arranged a plane for me. We still had some airplanes left.

"Well, then, are you ready?" Kal-El asked. "Are you OK to go there and start talking with them?" He was more alert to the time passing than I.

"I guess so," I said hesitantly. Something about this just didn't feel right. On the other hand, Lex had sent us here, and I'd gone through the whole day with this Kryptonian just to do this mission….

"Why don't I speed us to a spot where we can come walking up the drive?" Kal-El asked.

"Not where they can see us," I automatically replied.

"Of course." I could almost sense the eye-roll. Of course he'd hide his abilities from those who didn't know. Of course he'd be discreet.

I thought a minute about the tales Kal-El had spun about the supposed life he'd had in the other world. According to him, he'd led a quiet life on a Kansas farm, using his powers only to handle the farm chores. Thousands of Kansans had gone about their lives, not knowing that an alien lived among them, not knowing that the Kryptonian lay in wait for the right moment. He'd said that he'd never wanted to conquer the world, that it was the Artificial Intelligence of his dead Kryptonian father, ensconced in the crystalline Fortress of Solitude, who had told him that his destiny was to rule.

I was dubious. Kryptonians lived to conquer. That's what they did.

"Are you ready?" Kal-El said softly, jerking me out of my contemplation. I pushed away my re-awakened fears. We were here on a mission. He hadn't hurt me yet. Finish this and we could go home. We could actually get back to Metropolis base this evening, if everything went well. My tent and sleeping bag would remain blissfully unused, and I could sleep in a real bed.

"Martha, are you ready?" Kal-El asked again, this time with a hint of irritation. I was really letting my mind wander. It was time to put on my diplomatic face. I girded my loins, mentally speaking, putting on the "Martha Clark, Lawyer and Diplomat" persona.

"Yes." Again Kal-El took our packs, gathered me up. Again the whoosh and blur, this time lasting only a second. He set me down, I took up my pack once again. I caught his eye – he looked worried.

"Can you hear anything?" I blurted out.

He got a distant look on his face. "They're just making small talk, not saying much." His face twisted.

"What?"

He sounded reluctant. "It's pretty….um, coarse."

"Locker room talk?" I asked defiantly.

"Um….worse."

"OK then." I wondered if he had the same subtle feeling that I had, that something was off, something not right. Of course, he was Kryptonian and much less vulnerable than me. He didn't have to worry.

I had a second thought. "Can you stash our packs here?"

"You'd like to go in unencumbered?" It was a rhetorical question. Kal-El gazed at the trees. They were evergreens, now sadly denuded by the frequent winds, and some leafless oaks and maples. He gestured at me, and I followed him a short distance into the grove. Surprisingly, despite being so close, we couldn't see the drive once we got more than ten or fifteen feet away.

He pointed to a tall oak (or whatever it was – I wasn't very good at telling trees just by their bark) and a thick branch twenty feet up. I raised my eyebrows. Kal-El just smiled. Asking unspoken permission, he took my pack again. Carrying a pack on each shoulder, he crouched and jumped. My jaw dropped as he sailed to the branch in one mighty leap.

He pulled out some nylon rope from a pocket, and secured our backpacks to the tree trunk and the branch. Then, looking down and checking where I stood, Kal-El casually stepped off the tree. He sank into the ground up to his ankles as his knees flexed to absorb the shock.

I closed my jaw. "Nice."

Kal-El smirked. "Thanks."

Seeing that jump….the other Kryptonians had flown, an action so alien I had no basis for comparison. But any human could jump. Just not so high…..I wrenched my mind from that and forced it back onto our mission. I felt curiously reluctant to go back to the drive and walk up to the school entrance. But now it was time. I gathered up my courage. All right. Time to stop putting it off. Do it now.

I began marching down the long drive, quickly rounding the curve so that I came into view of the four men at the school entryway. Kal-El sprinted a bit (at normal human speed) to catch up with me. It wasn't long before the men caught sight of us.

Three of the men came down the entrance-way steps to greet me. "Welcome. You must be Martha Clark?" said the leader.

"Yes, hello," I replied.

"Hank Hall," he said, holding out his hand. I shook it. He towered over me, and even had an inch on Kal-El. His parka bulked him up, and his physical presence was overwhelming.

He introduced his companions. "Bill Bergman. Jose Hernandez." He pointed to the man who remained on the stoop, "Dave Morris." All three were large men, who had surprisingly retained muscle even in these days of privation.

We shook hands. "Clark Kent," I nodded at Kal-El. Kal-El retained an aloof demeanor, and stood behind me, nodding at the men but not offering to shake hands. They apparently felt the same way.

"I'm glad you're here, Mar- _Ms Clark_," Hank Hall said, deftly switching gears as he caught my expression. I wasn't about to be first-named like some waitress or pet. I deserved respect. I was the top diplomat of the new order. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Yes, we do. I'm very interested in hearing about conditions in the Denver area."

"And I'm interested in conditions in Metropolis."

We exchanged insincere smiles. Sometimes I developed a connection right away with my opposite number. That didn't seem to be happening here. In fact, I was getting a sense of untrustworthiness from Hank Hall. He reminded me of the clients who would delay payment interminably, or who would outright stiff me on my lawyer fees.

All of us walked to the entrance and Hall gestured me in. I stepped in, followed by Hall, Bergman, and Hernandez. Kal-El brought up the rear, after some courteous-but-restrained-aggressive jostling to be in last place, while Morris remained outdoors. It seemed odd that they would place a guard on our talks when no one was in the area. But on second thought, I had no inkling of how dangerous the Denver area really was.

"We'll be out of the wind, here," Hall said. I almost laughed. Talking about the weather was always a neutral topic and one that everyone could comment on. He gestured at my wrappings. "You're traveling pretty heavy."

How rude. I kept a poker face but said, "We've come a ways through cold territory."

Besides, he wasn't one to talk. As we entered the school, out of the wind, he opened his parka. A large hatchet, sheathed, dangled from his belt. The other two men obviously carried handguns, and I could see a long knife at Bergman's side.

We went a few doors down the hallway, and Bergman opened the door to what I assumed was the first-grade classroom. Surprisingly, the wooden student desks hadn't been taken and burned for warmth, and the teacher's desk stood in lonely splendor at the front of the room. The men had cleared an area around the teacher's desks, and brought in some more adult chairs from other rooms.

I stared at the dusty walls which were covered with aids to learning in primary colors. Six feet above the floor, a brightly colored alphabet strip, each letter in both its capital and small forms, ran the length of the room. Each letter joined with a picture of an object whose name began with the letter in question. A banana followed an apple, and a yak preceded a zebra.

A number line counted up from one to one hundred, posted up beneath the alphabet strip. Fives and tens were prominent. A bright calendar with wide date boxes graced the inside of the door, and the teacher had placed smiling photos of her students on certain dates, presumably their birthdays.

I stared at those faded photos, children with gap-toothed smiles and tousled hair, and wondered what had become of them. Had they died right away? Did some still live, somewhere around here?

Bergman and Hernandez were at the edges of the room, fiddling with the children's books lined up on shelves and on the windowsills. Muted daylight filtered through the tall windows, a pale imitation of what sunshine had been before the Kryptonian invasion and climate change.

Kal-El kept an eye on the two men, but I saw him gently pick up some blocks of various shapes, sizes, and colors. A math workbook poked out of one student desk. On its open page, I saw laboriously scrawled answers to simple addition problems and the red pen "A+" of the teacher's grade. If Kal-El had been raised on our Earth, had he gone to school? Had he been in a classroom like this? I'd never thought of that before, but now, as Kal-El moved to the bookshelves and began studying the titles, I wondered. Had he done math worksheets? Had he laboriously held a pencil, learned to write English? What had his grades been?

Hank Hall cleared his throat and I turned my attention back to him. He gestured toward the teacher's desk.

"Now, we have a map of the area right here," he said. He unfolded a large paper and tried to spread it out. I took the teacher's wire mesh in-box off the desk and moved it to a student desk to make room. "Now, we're right here…..and you came from Metropolis…." Hall traced a line on the map, going off the map borders. Obviously Metropolis wasn't on this map.

"By the way," Hall said, his tone casual, but his tension alerting me to the fact that he considered this an important question, "how did you travel?"

"Very well, thank you," I snapped back.

Hall pasted on a smile. "No, I mean, did you run into any bandits or….any kind of a bad element?"

"No. We had no trouble." Why was Hall talking about this?

"Did you make good time?"

Kal-El's head raised, and his eyes met mine. Both of us felt the tension in the air. Bergman and Hernandez stopped fiddling with the educational blocks and cubes, and looked to their leader. My heart beat faster.

"Yes, there were no problems on the trip."

Hall wouldn't let it go. "Glad to hear that, Martha." My eyebrows lowered at the offensive familiarity. "When Lex Luthor contacted me and said you'd leave this morning and that you'd be here this afternoon, I thought, well, gee, that's pretty good in these days." He advanced on me, and was standing uncomfortably close. I refused to back away.

Hank continued. "You know, the roads are treacherous these days." He cast a significant look at his two henchmen. My heart pounded, and I knew something was very wrong. "One would hope that you had a good bodyguard."

"Clark's an excellent bodyguard," I said, straightening up and staring Hall right in the eye. I caught a glimpse of Kal-El's tense face. _"Clark," _I subvocalized. A look of surprise crossed his face for just an instant. I'd called him _Clark _for the first time. I did it to get his attention, and it worked.

"I'm sure he is," Hank Hall said, stepping out of my personal space and nodding to Bergman and Hernandez. They drifted inward, closer to Kal-El. "After all, those Kryptonians are indestructible, right?"

Cold fear washed through my gut. "Clark, get us out of here," I said, no longer caring if the men heard me.

I was too late.

Kal-El doubled over in pain as Bergman opened a box. Sitting innocently among the clutter of first-grade teaching tools, its contents glowed virulent green. Kryptonite. Bergman jerked Kal-El's parka halfway down, immobilizing his arms behind his back.

"Oh, _Clark!_" Hall mocked. "_Clark, _get us out of here!" With his words, Hernandez viciously punched Kal-El in the stomach. The tall Kryptonian fell to the ground. Mockingly, Hall continued. "Ooh, _Clark _is a good bodyguard. _Clark _and I made good time on the road." With every repetition of _Clark, _Bergman and Hernandez kicked at Kal-El. Their heavy boots made dull thumps as Kal-El groaned.

Hall turned back to me and hit me across the face. I staggered and fell, catching myself on the teacher's chair. "And you! I'd heard that Luthor was working with a Kryptonian. Yep, that girl came by and told us the truth. Luthor has sold out."

"Who?" I asked dully. I could barely think from the pain in my head. I felt blood dripping from my nose. I heard Kal-El moan louder as the beating continued.

"Let's see," Hall said triumphantly. "Andrea Rojas was her name. She gave us this little piece of jewelry." He walked to another lead box hiding in plain sight and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. I knew them well. Rojas had used her metahuman strength to twist semi-melted Kryptonite in with the steel of the cuffs and chain. Kal-El had worn them until after his trial.

Hall strode over to Kal-El and gestured to his men. Bergman and Hernandez stopped kicking Kal-El. Hall displayed the cuffs, and laughed at Kal-El's horror. Kal-El tried to squirm away, but his weak efforts were futile as Hall hit him casually and snapped the handcuffs on his wrists.

Somehow I managed to stand up. "No," I muttered. How could Rojas do it? She had voted against Kal-El at the trial, yes, but I had thought we'd all agreed to let bygones be bygones. Although I certainly hadn't been successful at that. But at least I'd trusted Lex enough, and trusted his judgment with regards to Kal-El enough, to leave things alone, to have an armed truce.

Rojas had left Metropolis after Kal-El's trial. I hadn't paid attention, didn't know where she'd gone, because I'd gone off to work with Bruce on the East Coast right then. She'd made it here, all right. I wondered dully where she was now.

Hall strode back to me, confident. "You. Martha, I'm disappointed in you." Silky menace was in his words. Lex could do silky menace a hundred percent better, I thought. This guy was an amateur at silky menace. But his words chilled me. "You're a traitor to the human race."

My head swam. Was I? I had been working with a Kryptonian, that was for sure. But Kal-El had helped bring down Zod…."I'm not."

Well, that was an impressive triumph of rhetoric. I almost thought Hall would answer, "Are too."

He didn't. Instead, he said, "You are, Martha. You stand convicted by being in this animal's presence." Hall gestured and nodded at his two men. "Leave off for a minute, boys. I don't want you to kill him right away."

Hernandez and Bergman reluctantly stepped away from Kal-El, who lay gasping on the floor. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he'd been unable to curl up to protect his gut, and he'd vomited blood. Bruises marred his face.

Hall went on. "I would have thought that Lex Luthor would be smart enough to take care of any of _them._" He went over to Kal-El and kicked him viciously in the ribs. Kal-El gasped and more blood dribbled from his lips.

"Well, we'll take care of that, right after we deal with the human traitor," Hall went on, licking his lips. "The person who's been with him, been helping him."

If only I could think. I was dazed. It was worthless to protest Kal-El's innocence. And even I had never believed in his harmlessness. _Focus on yourself, Martha. _"I'm no traitor."

"You already said that, Martha, but give it up." Hall gave Kal-El a parting kick and strode over to me.

"I demand a trial," I said desperately. Anything to buy time.

Hall laughed outright. "We're under frontier law here, Martha." His smile turned predatory. "You know, where some people just 'need killin'?'" His eyes crawled up and down my body and I shivered. An ugly fire lit in his glance. "Of course, you've been with that Kryptonian, and you're tainted already…."

I staggered up out of the chair and edged away from Hall, from the two men, from Kal-El. I had a bad feeling.

"Get out," Hall told his henchmen curtly. "I don't need you watching for this. You'll get your turn."

Bergman and Hernandez barely spared a glance for me, shaken and trembling, and for Kal-El, cuffed and beaten, bloody on the floor. They nodded at Hall. Bergman set the box with the kryptonite on the floor, closer to Kal-El, and the latter screamed. I could see black tendrils writhing on Kal-El's skin. The screaming cut off as Kal-El fell unconscious. Bergman and Hernandez smiled as they left the room. The door closed with a tiny click.

I met Hall's eyes. That was a big mistake. They were a predator's eyes and I was their prey. I edged further away, cursing under my breath as I banged into a student desk.

"Don't make me hurt you," Hall said in a ghastly parody of bonhomie. He moved towards me.

I averted my eyes. My gaze skittered across the room. My only possible ally confined, beaten and unconscious, probably close to death. Threatening me was a man who outweighed me and much stronger than me. His minions were close by, ready to do his bidding. Panic grew in me. It was so much like the time before…..


	7. Chapter 7

_WARNING: This chapter contains violence and attempted sexual assault. _

* * *

_From Chapter Six…_

I averted my eyes. My gaze skittered across the room. My only possible ally confined, beaten and unconscious, probably close to death. Threatening me was a man who outweighed me and much stronger than me. His minions were close by, ready to do his bidding. Panic grew in me. It was so much like the time before…..

* * *

I saw Kal-El gasping, taking irregular, bubbling breaths. No help there. A curious peace came over me. It wasn't going to happen again. _It wasn't. _

I deliberately made myself small, deliberately trembled. "No," I whimpered. Hall smiled triumphantly and strode to me, his hand already at his trouser fly. I wanted him to underestimate me. It looked like he was. A cool sense of anticipation spread through me, and I felt the steel core at my center that I thought I'd lost.

As I feigned helplessness, I thought, _Thank you, Lois Lane, for all those days of training. _After…..afterwards, I'd sworn never to be helpless again. And Lois helped me learn. I'd spent hours practicing, trying to forget… searching for mindless exhaustion. Now I readied myself, making sure to show no sign, no muscle tensing, no eye movements to warn the approaching attacker. I'd have one chance.

Hall got within the distance. I remembered what Lois had said: _There's not a man on this planet who can stand up to a good kick in the nuts. _Of course, as I remembered bitterly, it didn't hold true for men from Krypton. But, as I exploded into action, I saw that it still applied to Earth males.

Hall went down with gratifying swiftness, gripping his essentials. I kicked him again in the solar plexus and watched him gasp for air. The cool certainty stayed with me and I followed up with more kicks, knocking him out.

I took a deep breath. I'd done it. I'd fought back and won. The reaction hit and I began shaking. I forced myself to take deep breaths. I stood over Hall, watching him closely. He didn't move. I looked up slowly. My heart raced. Had Bergman and Hernandez heard anything? I hoped not. The doors were thick, and presumably they'd be expecting some… noises, anyway.

I headed to Kal-El and closed the lid on the box containing the kryptonite. It glowed with a fierceness I'd never seen before. Some of the metas at Metropolis base could make the mineral fluoresce a little bit. But Kal-El's presence caused glowing far beyond the feeble radiance produced by our metahumans.

Kal-El improved immediately. His ragged breathing smoothed out, and the fresh blood streaming from his nose stopped gushing. Would he regain consciousness? I needed his help to get away. And he needed mine too.

I watched him for what seemed like a long time, but it was probably only about sixty seconds. No change. I dithered for a minute and then brought myself to attention with thoughts of what had to be done. Not bothering to stop by Hall again (although I wanted to give him another kick, just for good luck), I went to the hall door. Fortunately, the window set in the top half of the door was a vertical quarter-pane, and heavily frosted. Hall's henchmen wouldn't be able to see in. I smiled at the sight of a lock on the door and turned it. For good measure, I took an adult-sized chair and propped it under the doorknob.

I went back to Hall – he was well and truly out. I mentally thanked Lois, and all my sparring partners over the last two years, once again. I'd practiced for a long time. When I finally needed the art, I had it. Even with our dicey situation, I felt triumph. Martha Clark wasn't going to give in. Martha Clark fought back.

Kal-El moaned, and I hurried over to him. He was so bloody… I hurried over to Hall and opened his parka. With my Swiss Army knife, I cut Hall's shirt and took several long strips of material over to Kal-El. Moistening it with a little from my water bottle, I began to wipe his face.

"Mom?" he slurred. I stopped wiping for a moment, and then started again.

"Mom? It hurts."

What to say? I kept on wiping.

"Mom."

"You'll be all right, Ka - Clark," I said awkwardly.

He gave a huge sigh that turned into a bubbling cough. His eyes opened and he looked at me without seeing. "Mom," he muttered again.

I said nothing, kept methodically wiping his face. By now I had gone through three of the four strips I'd ripped from Hall's shirt.

I saw the moment when he came back to full awareness. He tried to stretch his arms and could not. His eyes focused on mine, and it was almost with regret that I saw the trust in his face drain away. Funny. I'd thought I was the only one with trust issues.

"Martha?" he asked slowly. He tried to sit up. Another drop of blood dribbled from his mouth and he groaned.

"We've got to get you out of those cuffs," I said, taking refuge in the here-and-now. _Solve the first problem. Do what you have to do. Then you can start thinking again. _

"Hall?" Clark asked apprehensively. I knew what he didn't want to ask. _Were you raped? _

"I kicked him in the balls," I said plainly. My mother would have had a conniption if I'd ever talked like that. Well, my mother was part of the old world that was dead now. Of course, I reminded myself, there was never any excuse for bad manners. I almost laughed out loud, thinking of etiquette at a time like this.

Clark stared at me incredulously for just a minute. Then a wide smile slowly broke over his face. I could almost see him struggling for words, trying to pick the right expression. Finally, with an even wider smile, he settled for, "You're great."

Warmth went through me. It shouldn't have meant so much to me, Clark's approval, but it did. His struggle with the cuffs brought me back to earth in a hurry. We were in trouble and I had to do something about it.

"Maybe Hall has the key in his pockets." I leapt up and headed to the prone figure, still unconscious. I checked his clothing, rolling Hall over with difficulty. I made sure I felt inside every pocket.

"No luck," I said, dejected. Also I was worried. It had been ten minutes already and Hall's henchmen were surely getting nervous. Or eager. "Bergman or Hernandez must have the key."

Clark said nothing, but his serious look as he met my gaze mirrored my own. We had to get out. Clark was helpless as long as he was in the cuffs, or in the presence of kryptonite. I had self-defense skills but was seriously outweighed and outnumbered. I had managed to catch Hall by surprise and I couldn't count on that happening a second time.

I caught sight of the hatchet hanging at Hall's belt and got an idea. I pulled it out of its sheath.

"Let's try this," I suggested.

Clark looked at the hatchet dubiously. I wouldn't allow doubt. I was on a roll.

"Clark, can you stretch your hands behind you?"

The tall man, still lying on the floor, extended his arms. His body bowed and he stifled a slight groan. I checked – not a good angle. But an idea….

"If I help you, can you kneel with your arms behind you?" I didn't want to think of how painful it must be for him. He seemed pale, and all his words to me had been punctuated by shallow, quick breaths. I worried about internal bleeding – heck, he'd already spit up blood. Did he have broken ribs? Probably.

Clark only nodded. I could see he was bracing himself.

I quickly got a small student chair, made for a six-year-old to sit in, with short legs and a low seat. I set it behind Clark, and then squatted next to him. Awkward fumbling came next. He was _heavy_. Finally, after a lot of pushing and heavy breathing and sweating (on both our parts), Clark knelt, hands behind him and resting on the seat of the student chair. He swayed in position. This would be tricky.

"Hold still, right there," I ordered him. I spread his hands as far apart as they would go, given the limits of the handcuffs. I grabbed the hatchet.

"Don't move," I said, taking his left hand in my own and pressing his to the seat of the chair. His hand felt very warm. I raised the hatchet awkwardly in my right hand and swung it down at the chain connecting the two cuffs.

"Darn!" I said. The chain still held. But I looked at it closely – surely it was dented?

"Try again," Clark said. Without looking, he seemed to know. Of course, I was practically giving a running commentary. I kept hold of his hand as I raised the hatchet and again slammed it down on the chain.

There was a definite improvement, because some links were half-broken.

"One more time," I said resolutely. Once again, the swing. I almost cheered as Clark pulled at the handcuffs and the chain separated. I could feel his hand flex under mine. Again, I noticed that it was surprisingly warm. His long fingers dwarfed my petite ones. As he brought his arms back to his sides, I felt his hand and wrist slip through my palm. It was a curiously poignant moment.

Clark supported himself on the backrest of the student chair, and hauled himself upward. I had had abdominal surgery once and knew just how much one used those torso muscles in everyday life. I could only imagine the pain Clark felt as he forced himself into a standing position.

He swung his arms back and forth from the shoulders a few times. He gazed at the glowing kryptonite, merged with the metal of the cuffs, in disfavor.

"We've still got to get these off," he said. "When they're on, I don't have my abilities."

"I know that," I snapped. Of course I did. That was the whole point of those handcuffs. Before, the cuffs had kept me safe from the Kryptonian. Now… well, life was full of little ironies.

"Any ideas?" Clark asked, not quite sarcastically. More like _desperately. _He reached over as if to jiggle the cuff on his other wrist, but as his hand neared the kryptonite, the mineral glowed with greater virulence. Clark snatched his hand away as if it had been burned.

"Let me try," I said, coming over. Clark obligingly held out one wrist. I moved the bracelet up and down.

"Bend your hand so it's thinner," I ordered him. He obeyed silently, pushing his thumb against his palm, tucking his fingers against each other. I pushed harder. No go. His metacarpals and the pad of his thumb were too thick.

Someone knocked at the door. Our eyes met in alarm. Bergman and Hernandez had gotten tired of waiting. Another, louder, knock rang through the room. I looked over at Hall and noted gleefully that he was still unconscious. I grabbed the cuff on Clark's other wrist and started manipulating it. No luck there either. His hands were simply too big to slip through the cuffs.

Voices called. Bergman and Hernandez had discovered that the door was locked. We didn't answer.

"You get out while you can," Clark said quietly. "We're on the first floor." Determinedly, he let go of the seatback and walked to the window. He undid the catch, grunting as he raised his arms. It was a tall window. "You can just step out and drop three feet, then you're away."

I stared at him. "I'm not leaving without you!"

His face fell. "I can't run. I can't walk far with these handcuffs on. I'm a liability."

"And I'm any better on my own out there? Clark, are you crazy?" I hissed. "Besides, we're partners." Clark stared at me, amazed. I was amazed myself. I couldn't believe I'd said that. But I realized it was true. We'd been together only a day, but it had been an _intense _day. OK, maybe my thoughts were a little biased by our situation. Maybe our partnership was just from being in a foxhole together. And maybe I needed him to get out. But we were together now. And there was one thing I'd stayed true to, both in law and in life: I didn't run out on my partners. Even Kryptonian ones.

Bergman and Hernandez began banging at the door. I looked at it in panic. The lock and the chair under the knob wouldn't hold them back long if they really wanted to get in. And by now, they must know that something was wrong.

Clark got a determined look on his face. "I have an idea."

"What?"

He gestured to the hatchet. "Cut off my last two fingers."

_"What?"_

"If you cut them off, then I can slide off the cuffs." At my horrified expression, Clark hastened to add, "I'll heal."

My mind spun. I'd never consider this. But my companion wasn't human. If we could get the kryptonite off him, away from him… who better than he would know if he could heal? And what was the alternative… stay here and be captured and raped, watch Clark be tortured to death?

No. This was crazy. I wasn't about to mutilate my partner. I opened my mouth, and the words that came out were, "Are you sure?"

Louder banging came from the door. Any minute now they'd shoot out the lock.

Clark looked me straight in the eye. "I'm sure."

I gulped. Was I really thinking of doing this?

He caught my tiny nod. "Get the chalk."

I went to the blackboard and got a piece of chalk, obeying the command in his voice. He took it from me and drew a line on his left hand. It started at the webbing between the third and fourth fingers, and went laterally down the palm, ending at the outside edge of the wrist.

"Draw the same line on my other hand," Clark said. "And cut on the dotted line." His expression was sardonic. But his voice trembled.

I swallowed hard. I'd wanted revenge on the Kryptonians….now that it was in my grasp, I'd discovered that I really didn't have the stomach for it. Up close and personal like this… it was a different story.

"Come on!" Clark said urgently. "We don't have much time."

I nodded again, and my mind snapped into activity. "OK. You sit here." I got the teacher's chair and set it under him. He lowered himself gingerly into it. "And put your hands here. Flat, spread out. Spread your fingers as much as possible." I nudged a student desk over and he laid his forearms flat, spreading his fingers as I'd said. The kryptonite-and-metal bracelets kept his wrists from contacting the desk surface. His hands were beautiful.

More pounding at the door. They were trying to break it down. I breathed a prayer of thanks to those builders back in the nineteenth century who hadn't skimped on the construction. Thank God for sturdy doors.

I took the chalk and drew the lines, tracing over the line Clark had already made on his left hand. A curious finality filled me. It was like when I'd made a plan, and the Resistance had gone into battle. I'd hoped I'd covered everything – it would be deep consideration, and then explosion into action.

"Once you make the cuts, if I can't….you get the cuffs off as fast as you can and please, Martha, take them as far away as possible." Clark's voice trembled despite his best efforts to keep it steady. I wondered what he thought. What was it like to be at the mercy of those who hated him – not just Bergman and Hernandez, but me too? I'd let him know in no uncertain terms that I distrusted and feared him. And now, his fate was in my hands – literally. Was he afraid that I'd cut off his hands? Or his thumbs? Why else draw the chop line? He was trusting me a lot more than I'd ever trusted him.

"OK." I could do this. It was going to be worse for Clark, anyway. A lot worse. I didn't want to think about that. I grabbed the hatchet and swung it in the air a few times to re-acquaint myself with its heft. We'd dulled the hatchet by cutting through the handcuff chain – what if it wouldn't cut cleanly? What if I hurt Clark for nothing?

I went to stand over by Clark. "On three." A few more air swings. I saw Clark close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"One. Two." I swung the hatchet down viciously. The blade sheared through Clark's left hand, chopping through meat and bone equally. It was still sharp enough. Blood sprayed from a severed artery. Clark screamed. I swallowed hard. "And three," I whispered, as I made the chop to the right hand. He screamed again.

Blood covered the desk surface. I could see the edges of Clark's metacarpals on the cut surfaces of his hands, before the blood began dripping in runnels. I'd chopped the fourth metacarpal bone about halfway down, and I'd disarticulated the fifth metacarpal at the carpal-metacarpal joint. Ligaments looked like tiny pieces of tough spaghetti. Joint fluid leaked out from between the mangled wrist bones. The severed fingers and half-palms on the desk looked like something out of a horror movie. But they were real.

"Martha…." Clark groaned.

I dropped the hatchet and pulled at the kryptonite bracelet on the right hand. Slick with blood, it slid over Clark's mutilated palm and past his index and middle fingers. The blood bubbled and frothed as it touched the glowing green meteor rock set into the metal. Clark screamed again as the cuff touched the raw surface of his butchered palm. I tamped down my nausea and quickly repeated the process on the left hand, not acknowledging Clark's agonized grunting as the bracelets came off.

I rushed to the edge of the room and opened the lead box where the big kryptonite chunk stayed prisoner. I quickly dumped the bloody cuffs into the box and slammed the lid shut.

I headed back to Clark. He'd managed to put his hands next to their severed pieces. As I neared him, a strange glow caught my eye. My jaw dropped as I saw his hands join together at the cut surfaces. A bright light fizzed above the join, making it impossible for me to see his actual hands. After a minute, the glow expanded to cover most of his body.

He was right. He _was _healing. The glow faded, and I stared at his hands. Only a thin red line on each palm marked where I'd made those vicious hatchet chops.

I saw Clark wiggling his fingers and making a fist. He sighed in relief, and his expression made me realize suddenly that he hadn't been as confident about the healing as he'd sounded.

He stood up, easily. His black eyes and facial contusions had faded. He took a deep breath, gingerly at first, then more naturally as no pain from broken ribs and bruised muscles stopped him.

"That's a pretty good trick," I said quietly. Inwardly I cringed back again at the alien ability, the sheer _unnaturalness _of what had just happened. No wonder we hadn't been able to defeat Zod until we got our own Kryptonian. I looked at the lead box and just for a minute, thought about opening it up again.

More pounding from the door. I saw it bowing in its doorframe. It wouldn't hold up much longer.

I pointed out the lead box to Clark. "Can you seal that? I don't want to leave it here for them, and I don't want it popping open at an inconvenient time." Why had I said that? Didn't I want to have a weapon against the Kryptonian? And yet, I had my own small piece in my jeans pocket – that would be enough, certainly, if Clark tried anything. I was so confused.

He made no response, but turned and faced the lead box. I stood at his side, and saw his eyes turn red. The lead of the box softened and ran, and Clark used his healed fingers to smooth the molten lead in the crack of where the lid would open. He inhaled deeply, and blew at the box. I could hear it crackle as it cooled. He reached for it and handed it to me.

"You carry it. And stand back."

I moved back at his gesture, and saw his eyes turn red again. He swept his vision over the room. I noticed that Clark was burning away his blood, incinerating the surfaces of the desks and chairs and floors where he'd bled. I could feel the heat from a yard away.

"Got it all," he muttered. He turned to me. "You've got the kryptonite?"

"Yes."

I tucked the lead box away in my outer coat pocket. I saw the hatchet and picked it up too. No time to take the sheath off Halls' belt. Not a good idea to leave weapons in the hands of our enemies. Was the meteor rock found only near Smallville? If Rojas had brought this to them here in Colorado, maybe so. Hopefully our foes didn't have extra.

Gunshots rang out – Bergman and Hernandez must have decided to stop fooling around. I glanced at Clark, and we both rushed to the window. We took a crucial moment to close up our undercoats, zip up our parkas, put on our hats and mittens. Clark opened the window, and as ever, I cringed a bit at the cold air.

"Here." He gestured and I automatically stepped into his arms. He gently swung me down the four feet to the ground. As Clark jumped out the window, behind us, in the room, the door burst open. Bergman and Hernandez stormed in. Bergman stopped, knelt down, presumably to look at Hall. I hoped that Hall was still unconscious and would delay them. Heck, I hoped that Hall would have a headache for days.

Hernandez focused on us. He came rushing to the open window, brandishing his handgun.

"Martha!" Clark called. "Here!" I jumped into his arms for the front carry at his beckoning gesture. Strange how that position had come to seem so natural. As Clark began to run away, I saw Hernandez take aim and fire at us. I tucked my head back into Clark's chest. I felt the impact as the bullet hit him in the back, as his stride wavered. We weren't going as fast as usual – the world wasn't a blur and a whoosh. I could see scenery passing like I was in a car – faster than a human could run, yes, but not up to Kryptonian standards.

"Are you all right?" I asked Clark anxiously. The running stopped.

He set me down at the trees near the entrance gates. "I think my batteries are low," Clark said with an awkward smile. "I need some time in the sun."

"Good luck with that," I said sarcastically. The skies had been permanently gray since Zod and his robot (Brainiac, Clark had called it once) did something to them with their alien Fortress and Kryptonian technology. I focused on Clark. His parka was so bloodstained it was difficult to tell, but I thought there was a fresh stain on his back. "Did you get shot?"

He sighed. "Yes, but it only went in a little way."

"We need to treat the wound – "

"Martha. I'll heal. I just need some time and sun, OK?" His face was tired. "Now, we've got to get our stuff and get out of here. OK?"

I'd just seen him heal from worse injuries. "OK."

We walked quickly amidst the grove of trees. "Here we are," I said, pointing upwards at our backpacks, stowed high on a branch.

Clark looked up at the packs, then up at the sky, where the setting sun was visible as a faint shimmer of light behind the thick gray clouds. "I can do this," I heard him mutter. That didn't fill me with confidence.

He flexed his knees. I expected the titanic jump I'd seen last time. He jumped, and it was high, but not high enough. He ended grasping the branch, legs dangling. I sucked in a breath. Would he let go, fall down, and try again? No, it seemed as if he didn't want to. He slowly pulled himself upwards and worked his way onto the branch. I inhaled again. I'd never had the upper body strength to do chin-ups or pull-ups. And for Clark to do it so soon after being viciously beaten….of course, he _had _healed. I'd seen it myself.

He was delaying up there, I could tell. Maybe he wasn't as healed as I thought. I saw him carefully stand up and work his way to the tree trunk. He fiddled with something, presumably the lashings, and I saw him pick up my pack. He looked down and I wondered for a moment if he was going to drop my pack. I hoped not – some of the things inside, like the tiny camp stove, were breakable. Nevertheless, I stood aside.

Clark came plummeting down, ending up in the frozen soil up to his ankles. He held my pack.

"You couldn't get both packs?" I asked. Then I immediately felt chagrin. Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Clark cast me an annoyed look. He obviously felt the same way.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"No," he said shortly. "It was too heavy – I couldn't - I need to rest a bit, charge up some more before I can get my pack down."

Shame flooded through me as I realized what a bad day Clark had had. Getting tortured….not fun for anyone. "Um….you do that," I said awkwardly. He was pale and sweating. I wondered how much blood he'd lost, what with the internal bleeding and my insane chopping too.

I looked away from him, trying to hide my embarrassment. I shoved my hands in my parka pockets and felt the lead box and the hatchet. I pulled them out, and fumbled with the pack, stashing the box in an outside pocket and tying the hatchet to a strap.

Clark's face lifted and he looked off in the distance. "You hear that?" he asked.

"No, what?"

"We have to get going _now_," Clark said. "I can hear the Jeep. They're coming to cut us off at the gate."

The gate. The only way out of the school grounds, at least that we knew of. And Clark hadn't said it, but I guessed he was vulnerable now.

"Let's get going," I said shortly. I picked up my pack and settled it on my back. I started to walk to the gate, setting a fast pace. The lead box made a difference. I was going to have to readjust the weight sometime soon. Maybe sometime later when we weren't running for our lives would be a good time. Right.

"Martha…." Clark's voice asked. Was he thinking he should carry the pack? Why not? He had, all this trip, already.

""Let's go," I said. "You need a little more time to charge up, right?" His pale face, the sweating, the inability to make his leaps… all combined to give me a bad feeling. If he were human, I'd be calling for a medic. I'd never seen a Kryptonian so weak before. And yet I'd never seen a Kryptonian – or anyone - suffer as much as Clark had today.

"Um…right."

"Then let's walk, and I'll carry the pack for now. You just get better. When we need to run, hopefully you'll be ready."

"Good plan." He already strode next to me, his long strides easily matching my quick-paced shorter ones. "I wish we had better sun…."

"Yeah. I do too," I said bitterly. Clark looked nonplussed, as if he hadn't meant for me to hear that last. I had a momentary flash of weakness. _Yeah, I wish we had better sun, and that your race had never come to Earth, and that I was still a well-fed, warm, and impeccably groomed lawyer sitting in a heated courtroom right now. _

I shook my head. We were coming up on the gate. Even I could hear the Jeep now. Fortunately the road had a lot of curves – I thought we could get past the gate before the men would be able to see us.

I shot a look at Clark as we paced along steadily, just short of running. It was amazing how fast he recovered – already he didn't look so pale, and his ragged breathing had slowed.

"Give me the pack," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"I'm better now, at least enough to carry the pack," he said impatiently. "And when we get out, I want to be able to scoop you up – "

"I get it." I shimmied out of the straps and buckles, awkwardly, as we continued to head for the gate. We were jogging now. That was one thing different from the old world. The old Martha was never this fit. Being a guerrilla fighter for the past two years had done wonders for my endurance.

Clark fell behind a little bit and took the pack off my shoulders as I unbuckled and slipped off the straps. He sped up so he was next to me, and I saw him casually sling the pack on one shoulder. He'd done that before, of course. As ever, I cringed at the unbalanced way he carried the pack.

We made it out the gate and started down the road. The increased noise behind me alerted me that the men in the Jeep had seen us. I didn't look back. Whoever was driving accelerated. A gunshot rang out.

"Martha….it's time," Clark gasped. Had he been hit again? I wondered. "Stop just a minute."

I stopped, my chest heaving. He reached for me, scooped me up in the position that had become so familiar. The scenery started passing by faster.

"OK, put on the speed," I practically ordered him. We weren't going into the whoosh-and-blur.

"I'm trying!" Clark said. My heart sank. We were going fast, no doubt about that, but not fast enough to outrun our assailants. If we were in a car I'd say we were going forty or fifty mph – much faster than a human could run, yes, but not enough to escape our captors. In fact, I could hear the Jeep getting closer. I peeked over Clark's shoulder and then ducked my head down again at the sight. Another gunshot rang out – I didn't feel anything, and Clark didn't flinch, so hopefully it was a miss. Of course, we were a moving target aimed at from a moving platform, and still a fair distance away.

I glanced at the sky – was it darkening? I saw the muted flame-ball of the sun, clouds obscuring it as usual, and it seemed low on the horizon. Not good for us. Clark needed sunshine.

On the other hand, we were going downhill – that always helped. Whichever obscenely rich plutocrat had built the mansion which later became the school had picked a nice estate on a high elevation. And another thing in our favor were the road curves – the slope demanded frequent switchbacks, which tended to lower the Jeep's speed and worsened their aim. Foolishly, I looked at the narrow two lane road and wondered what you'd do here if you had a breakdown – no shoulder to pull off on, just a guardrail right at the edge. Of course, the view was amazing. Maybe that made up for the inconvenience.

The Jeep got louder. I peeked up again and wished I hadn't. They were almost on us. Bergman was driving, and Hernandez aimed his handgun. I ducked my head down again just in time. Another gunshot rang out and I felt Clark lose the smooth rhythm of his gait. He'd been hit this time. Another shot followed, and another; the second one hit Clark. I wondered how invulnerable he was. I had a bad feeling he might be wounded.

"Clark?" I said questioningly.

"I'm going as fast as I can," he choked out.

Uh-oh.

Another shot and another stumble. Clark was tiring, I could feel it. They'd be on us soon. I didn't want to think of what would happen if they caught us again.

Clark must have felt the same way. As Hernandez fired once again, he turned his head and spoke to me. "Martha! Hold on tight!"

What? I tightened my grip around his neck.

He turned sideways. Instead of running _down_ the road, he was running _across_ it. Right at the guardrail. Right at a sheer drop. Actually, right at a cliff.

"What are you going?" I screamed.

"Hold tight!" Clark jumped the rail. Then – _are you insane, Clark? _- he jumped off the cliff. As we began to fall, I saw Bergman stomp on the brakes, bringing the Jeep to a sliding stop. He and Hernandez sat there, aghast at the sight of us committing suicide.

Oh, God. We were falling. Wind whistled past us. I held on tight, all right. I grabbed Clark like a drowning swimmer grabbing a life ring. How high up was this cliff? When were we going to go splat? It couldn't be long now.

With a shock I realized we weren't falling as fast as we should be. Somehow we were defying Newton's laws. It burst on me: "We're flying!" Then I hastily corrected myself. "_You're_ flying!"

Clark actually laughed, albeit grimly. "It's not flying. It's falling….with style." I could hear the strain in his voice. He seemed to be aiming us for another patch of woods. I clutched him more tightly as we spiraled downward.

I remembered the sarcastic old saying: "It's not the fall that kills you – it's the sudden stop." Were we decelerating enough? Would our stop be too sudden? We still seemed to be descending way too fast.

Clark seemed as worried as I. "I can't control it!" he shouted. We were almost at treetop level now. "Martha! Let go!"

"Are you crazy?" I actually asked him. He didn't answer, just broke my grip on his neck. Before I knew what he was doing, he'd detached me and threw me up in the air.

For just a moment, I saw him falling, hitting the trees as I shot upward, thanks to his tremendous throw. Then darkness fell.

* * *

_Author's note: Of course, "It's not flying - it's falling, with style" is from the movie "Toy Story". _


	8. Chapter 8

I woke in glorious warmth and comfort. For the first time in days, I wasn't cold. I kept my eyes closed to savor the sensation. Then my sodden brain came online. There was someone next to me.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was in my tent – the snug, two-person tent I'd carried for so long. And, bringing my gaze down the walls to the floor, I saw Clark. In fact, I could feel him, nudged up close to me, definitely closer than I ever wanted him to be. I froze. Unwelcome memories came to the fore and I shivered. Then I saw that I was in my sleeping bag and he was fully dressed.

My gasp must have awoken him because suddenly he cleared his throat. I automatically looked at him and shrank back at the closeness of his returned gaze. He must have picked up on my shock, dismay and indignation at his too-close presence, for he said, "Mo- - Martha! You're awake." A certain fervency about that declaration made me wonder if my awaking had been in doubt.

I said nothing, and he stammered, "Uh….I'll be leaving now." Then he literally vanished. My jaw dropped. Oh, right. That super-speed again. Very disconcerting. At least he wasn't using it to sneak up behind me.

Much as I'd disliked having him in my tent, the cold that struck my side made me realize Clark was useful as a source of heat, if nothing else. Even the presence of the thermal blanket over the sleeping bag didn't compensate for his loss. Oh, well, time to get up anyway. Nature was calling with some urgency. I squirmed out of my sleeping bag and was grateful to see that I still wore the clothes I was wearing yesterday; Clark had taken off only my parka and boots, and in fact those were waiting for me at the tent entrance.

I did the usual contortions to get my boots on inside the small tent without getting dirt all over the tent floor. I stopped in between the left boot and the right to rub my head – I had a ferocious headache. I put on my parka and stepped outside.

The tent was pitched amidst a stand of trees. Clark looked up at me from his seat on a tree stump and gave me a big smile again. His constant smiling, when he'd been moping all day yesterday, was giving me the willies. But…."Nature calls," I said shortly. The cold air hadn't done anything for my headache; in fact, it seemed to make it worse.

Clark stood up, at human speed. "Here!" He reached out to take my arm, no doubt to escort me. I pulled away from him.

"Just show me."

He lost his smile and looked like a sad puppy. "OK." He led me a short distance into the woods surrounding us, to….

"An outhouse? Here?"

"Not much, but I figured you might want it," Clark said shyly, digging into the dirt with one toe.

Be still my heart. A sad come-down for Martha Clark, corporate lawyer, that she'd be so excited about a primitive one-holer in the woods. On the other hand, Martha Clark, corporate lawyer, hadn't had to spend more days than she cared to remember squatting out in the open with an ambient temperature of 4 degrees Celsius and the wind whipping at her bare flesh. To be out of the wind, to sit down – it was my new definition of luxury. I'd mentioned that in jest to Clark yesterday on one of our walks, and he'd obviously taken it to heart. Probably something he'd never thought of until I mentioned it – like all men, he probably just whipped it out and peed anywhere. The world was their urinal. And regarding number two, he didn't feel the cold on his invulnerable Kryptonian hiney.

"Your roll of toilet paper is inside," Clark said, correctly interpreting my searching gesture for leaves or other vegetation.

Wow. Luxury indeed. I went inside and took care of business, lingering just a little, because I could. But not too long. It was still pretty cold in there, even out of the wind.

When I stepped out, the contrast of the comparative dark of the pine-bough-roofed outhouse to the glittering snowfield of muted day stabbed my eyes. My headache grew worse. I put a hand to my head and wobbled on my feet.

"Martha!" Clark was there to catch me. It was probably a good thing because suddenly I felt weak. He swung me up in the position I'd become so familiar with. Instead of feeling trapped and frightened, being next to his chest now seemed a refuge. Besides, he was warm… Except that the motion made me a little nauseous.

Before I got any queasier, though, he'd set me down on another tree stump. This had been hacked to put me into a semi-reclining position. It lacked padding, but the seat surfaces were surprisingly smooth.

"Are you all right?" he asked me, a note of concern in his voice.

"Head hurts," I blurted out. I'd wanted to be stoic, but I couldn't. At least the nausea had subsided once he set me down.

Clark got a scared look and then I caught him squinting. Anger flared.

"Are you X-raying me?" I asked indignantly. It was so creepy, to be _looked at _that way.

"Uh…I'm sorry. I should have asked," Clark said, apparently sincerely. He knelt down next to me and took my hand. "Martha, you have a concussion."

"A concussion?"

Sheepish, he looked down. "I think I did it. I'm sorry." That apology definitely sounded sincere.

"What?"

"I was coming in for a landing and I didn't know how to stop," Clark gabbled out, "and so I threw you up in the air so I could crash and then catch you before you fell." He drummed his fingers on his pant leg. "I'm sorry."

Well, that explained my blackout. I did remember him throwing me in the air – rather frightening. On the other hand, he had saved our lives, I thought, as the memories went further back.

"It wasn't all your fault, Clark," I said softly, somehow not wanting him to take all the blame. "Hank Hall hit me pretty hard, you know, back there."

I saw Clark's fists clench at the memory. Then the fists relaxed as surprise crossed his face. "You called me Clark." He had another big smile, but a cautious one. Did he fear that this was some sort of mind game?

Somehow I'd started thinking of him as Clark ever since Hall's two henchmen had kicked him viciously, mocking him with that name as each boot landed. Seeing him bleed….somehow that had made him more human. He knew what it was to hurt.

"Erm, uh….." I didn't want to bring up that memory.

Clark seemed to understand that I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. "So, uh, when I landed I made a big crater – "

"Gotta work on those landings," I muttered. The concussion was causing an inhibitory filter bypass and I was saying whatever I thought. At least that was my excuse.

"Um, yeah," Clark agreed. "So, I landed with um, some damage to the local landscape, caught you, tried to revive you – " Definitely a concerned look at me here. " – went a few miles, pitched the tent, um, checked you again – " From the way he mumbled this, I understood that the last X-ray look was just one of countless scans he'd given me in the last twenty-four hours. I didn't know how to feel about that.

" – um, you were cold, so I got in the tent with you, and fell asleep myself. Um, I got in the tent with you for body heat – I didn't want to use the heat vision – I wasn't sure if that was going wonky too – um, I practiced this morning and it's not." He swallowed. "That's the story."

_And you're sticking to it, _I thought, able to keep from blurting that out this time. On the other hand, it was probably true. As I'd noted before, Clark couldn't lie worth a darn, and everything he'd said did have the ring of truth. And why should he bother to lie to me, now, anyway?

"Um, I think you should eat something." Clark's voice interrupted my musings. Maybe he was panicking because I'd closed my eyes again, to screen out some of the glare.

I couldn't face the complicated ritual of food preparation – getting out the stove, boiling the water, and so on. But Clark seemed willing to do the work. "I've got some rations in my pack," I managed to squeeze out.

"I found the tea," he said, annoyingly cheerful. "Is that OK?"

Tea did sound good right now. "OK."

I waited to hear the hiss of the camp stove. I heard nothing. Instead, in about thirty seconds, a hot mug was thrust into my hand. I smelled the tea scent. "How'd you do that so fast?"

The faint glaze of red departing his eyeballs gave me the clue. He looked very inhuman right then. "Oh. I forgot. Heat vision." I shivered despite the warm mug. Clark said nothing, but I could feel him waiting. I held the tea loosely as memories came. My mouth ran away with me. "When I was….when Zod….I saw them flying, burning crowds, incinerating them with a glance."

Clark drew in a breath. "I would never….." He sighed. "It's a tool, Martha," he said tiredly. He made as if to say more, and then didn't.

I held the mug loosely in my hand. After a minute, I raised the mug and drank some tea.

"Do you want something to eat?" Clark asked.

The hot tea soothed my headache as long as I kept my eyes closed. As the pounding stopped, I realized that I actually was hungry. "That would be good." I didn't bother telling him to look in my pack this time.

I opened my eyes just a bit and saw him pull out a pack of dehydrated noodles. He'd already found the cookware. He went off a short distance in the woods and came back with snow in the pan. Not wanting to see the heat vision again, I closed my eyes. But I smelled the scent of boiling soup from the flavor packet included with the noodles.

"Here you are," Clark said, managing to inject a note of determined cheerfulness into his tone. He'd managed to smooth a piece of wood and used it as a tray, setting the hot pan on it. I opened my eyes to see a curl of steam arising from the bowl.

"Did you filter the water?" I asked.

"Filter it?"

"There's a filter in the pack."

"I boiled it – I hope that's OK."

The smell of the soup was enticing. "It's probably OK for right now, but you should run even boiled water through the filter. It'll take out heavy metals, and the chemicals and the other things you can't get with just boiling." The long speech tired me. I closed my eyes again for a minute.

"OK, next time." He pointed to the soup. "Your soup is ready."

"Looks good," I said. As I reached for the spoon I heard a stomach growl. Loudly. It wasn't my stomach. I glanced over to see Clark staring at the soup with the air of a dog looking at a steak behind a window.

"When did you eat last?" I asked him sharply.

He met my eyes, embarrassed. "Um…I don't remember…I think it was about two weeks ago."

I remembered something. "Didn't the deal include food, clothing, and shelter?"

Clark said nothing.

"I distinctly remember it," I said. And I did remember that day when Clark stood at trial before us. I'd voted against him – I put that out of my mind right now. "You said you'd help us. We'd pay you. Haven't you been fed?"

"Well….it's been _offered_, but at Metropolis base, the kids need the food more…"

"Do you even _need _to eat?"

More embarrassment. He cast a wistful look at the soup, and then looked away, determined. "No."

"But you did grow up on a farm." I was cross-examining now.

"Yes."

"You worked on the farm."

"Yes."

"There were farm meals."

"Yes." Cautiously, he added, "My mother – " He didn't need to add, _Your counterpart. _"- cooked a lot. She's a good cook." Ingenuously, he asked me, "Do you cook?"

"Stop changing the subject. You're used to eating." It was obvious. He was large. If he were human, he'd be packing away quite a bit at every meal.

"Well….yes."

"Then, for God's sake, sit down and make some soup for yourself. I've got extra in the pack." At his aborted protest I added, "I can't eat here with you staring at me and your stomach growling."

He protested no longer. As he set off with alacrity to obey me, I wondered, just for a minute, if I'd channeled the Martha Clark of his world. If he'd been my son, I'd have made sure he learned to obey me.

No. I wasn't his mother. I _wasn't _his mother. He was an alien.

Although right now he was an alien who'd made himself a very fast bowl of soup. I saw him lift the pan to drink and I said, "Wait. Use the spoon, here." I passed him the spoon from my camp silverware.

"But you – "

"I'll use the spoon on my Swiss Army knife." I knew getting the model with _all_ the attachments would come in handy, and it had, several times already.

The hot soup filled the cold void in my center. The headache receded. I lay back on my tree stump (curiously like an Adirondack chair). Without words, Clark took the pans off to wash them. Presumably that would involve heat vision, and he'd been alerted to the fact that seeing the heat vision in action alarmed me.

He came back and fitted the cookware together in its stack, and replaced it in the pack. He was certainly a tidy camper.

As my blood sugar rose I recalled our mission. "We've got to get back to Metropolis."

Clark pulled up a stump and sat down next to me. "I agree."

"We've got to alert Lex about the situation….we didn't really find out too much…."

"I think we found out a lot," Clark said grimly.

"Um, yes." Abashed, I went on. "So, I'm up and around - you can run us back to Metropolis right now, OK?"

"Well….there's a little problem with that."

Fear coursed through me. He'd been so tractable yesterday – occasionally giving me a little light teasing or mocking, but doing what I said, when I said it. And now – I was injured, alone with him in a trackless forest, out of my element. Even the deserted cities were better – I could find shelter in a building, scavenge from abandoned homes. This wilderness….

He was showing his true colors. I should have known. He planned to hurt me, out here where no one would know. My heart raced and I began breathing rapidly at the thought.

"Martha?" Clark looked at me quizzically. "Are you OK?"

Darn him for sounding so concerned. And _darn _him for noticing when I became agitated, even when I tried to conceal it.

I couldn't speak. My mouth, despite the soup, was dry.

Clark cast a cautious eye at me and went on. "Um….you'll recall that yesterday I was flying?" His tone indicated that he wasn't sure if I _did _recall. I felt indignant. I wasn't senile.

Oh. Of course. I'd had a concussion. There might be memory loss. Or maybe he thought my agitation was because of the flying. "Yes." I managed to choke out that word.

"Well, I don't really have the flying under control yet….um, I'm not ready to take a passenger till I _do _get it under control."

"Just run us, then," I said. "You did it yesterday."

He looked more abashed. "Well….um….that's kind of glitched up, too."

I sighed. My heart and breathing had calmed a little bit at the sight of apologetic Clark. "Glitched up?" I sat up straighter and glared at him.

He began speaking rapidly, the words falling out. "I tried running, I've done that for years, no problem, but now when I run I start flying and I've crashed into a few trees because I'm not really flying and not really running, it's sort of weird mix, and I can't keep the running and the flying separate and I don't really know how to fly."

I took a minute to absorb all that. "So….if you run at speed…"

"I start to fly, but I don't have altitude."

"And if you try to fly…"

"Let's just say it's a wobbly flight with a high chance of crashing."

"We can walk out of here."

Clark looked incredulous. "Martha, do you know how big Colorado is? It would take months!"

I was indignant. "The whole point of sending you with me was to solve my transport problems!"

"Well, I'm _sorry_ I got this new ability just in time to _annoy_ you!"

I realized that somehow I'd gotten in his face and he was shouting right back at me.

"Don't talk like that. You're being snippy."

He was incredulous. "_I'm _being snippy?"

"Yes, and it doesn't become you at all."

I leaned back, breathing heavily. Clark sprang up and paced, muttering, "Snippy. _I'm _being snippy." I must have touched a nerve there.

I took a deep breath. Calm, Martha, calm. I was tired and cranky and hurting. But I could do calm. Yes. I could do calm. "Do you have any _helpful, concrete_ suggestions?"

He stopped pacing. I saw him counting to ten. When he answered me, his voice was even. "Well, when I've gotten other powers, it's taken me some time to master them. If I really work at it – really concentrate on it – hopefully I can figure out the flying in one or two days. Then I can take you – take _us _– home the easy way."

I wasn't overly thrilled at the thought of one or two more days in the wilderness here with a Kryptonian. A glitching Kryptonian, at that. I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it. Did I have a better idea? No. Basically, I was stuck here without his help. I was at his mercy….No. Don't think that way. You are Martha Clark. You are strong.

"I don't know about the flying," I said, changing the subject. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Whatever," Clark said wearily. "Just let me get the running untangled from the flying, and we can go however you want."

"OK."

"OK."

I stared at him. He got the message. "I should start working on it now?"

"There's no time like the present."


	9. Chapter 9

That day, I saw something that no other humans had – a Kryptonian, preternaturally graceful, one of the race that had conquered us, enslaved our planet, changed our climate, and slaughtered our population with an efficiency that Hitler or Stalin could only dream of – wobbling around and falling on his ass.

After I'd not-so-subtly hinted that he should get to work on the flying thing, he'd stared at me for a moment, and stomped off to the middle of the clearing. I sat at the edge, reclining in my homemade Adirondack chair. The tea and soup had filled my cold center and my headache had eased, but I still felt curiously disjointed. Probably it was the concussion that gave everything a dreamlike quality.

I watched as Clark stood in the center of the clearing, as far away as possible from the trees. He looked at me once again and I gave him a languid wave. _Come on, get on with it._ He grimaced and closed his eyes. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes in frustration and met my glance. He flinched and quickly closed his eyes again. This time I saw his face wrinkle in concentration.

Suddenly electric tension filled the air – _something _was going to happen. I gripped the edges of my stump-chair. Sweat broke out on Clark's brow. I stared – had his feet left the ground? I leaned forward.

Yes. Definitely. There was a good two inches of air under his boots. He was levitating.

I drew in a sharp breath. He was actually doing it. Right then, Clark crashed to the ground – still standing, not losing his balance at a fall of a mere two inches – and opened his eyes.

"I did it." He said it proudly, quietly. But there was a note of underlying incredulity, as if he couldn't imagine himself flying.

I only nodded. _I'd_ certainly seen Kryptonians flying. _I _knew it was possible.

Not waiting for me to comment, Clark closed his eyes again and got that air of concentration. This time it was only a few seconds before he levitated again. I saw him clench his fist and he rose a few more inches. He stayed up for about thirty seconds. Then he lowered himself to the ground.

He stood, breathing heavily. He came over to me.

"Good start, but shouldn't you keep on practicing?"

Clark didn't respond to my acid tone. He pulled off his parka and his jacket. "Hold this for me, would you?"

I gawked at it. "Won't you be cold – oh."

He smiled awkwardly. "Uh, no. And I want to expose more skin – um, leave my arms bare, see if I can soak up more sun." I noted the arms in question were heavily muscled, now bared below the shoulders with the removal of Clark's top two layers. Only a light T-shirt, form-fitting, clothed his torso.

His parka felt heavy on my lap. I squirmed. "Let me get adjusted here…" I got up, then realized that the tea and soup had gone through me. "Another visit…" I gestured in the direction of the outhouse.

Clark escorted me there again. This time, after I came out, he went in. We headed back to the campsite together. He went off to the woods, and came back with a pan of warm snowmelt and my bar of soap. Setting the pan down, he ostentatiously washed his hands and then offered me the soap. I snorted but copied his actions. He emptied the pan and put the soap away in one of those super-speed blurs. I didn't even flinch this time. I was getting used to it.

I was tired again. Maybe it was the concussion, or all the excitement from yesterday, but the least exertion enervated me. I headed back to my recliner-stump to see that Clark had lined the seat with his jacket and parka.

"It'll keep you warmer, and I won't lose my coat," he said sheepishly. He helped me get adjusted in the seat and then pulled the blanket out of the tent and covered me with it. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"You're delaying," I accused him. But it was hard to put any vehemence in my voice, since after all, I was OK. I was actually comfortable.

"Right," Clark replied, smiling. "Are you OK?" The simple words had a wealth of affection hidden in them.

"Fine. Now get to work." I couldn't help smiling as I said it, though.

"OK." With one last adjustment of my blanket, Clark strode off to the center of the clearing. This time it didn't take him as long to levitate. He rose, dropped, rose again, dropped again…..

I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, full of nightmares. I was trapped again in the schoolroom, Hall chasing me, I couldn't get away…..I ran and ran but he was always right behind me. He grabbed my shoulder…..

I screamed in my dream and woke up to a strangled cry that was my scream in real life. Clark stood over me, his hand on my shoulder. I flinched.

"Are you OK?" he asked, concerned.

I took a deep breath. I was safe….well, at least I wasn't in _active _danger. "Fine," I said curtly. I stared at Clark and only then took in his general air of dishevelment. His jeans had numerous stains, and even his T-shirt was rumpled. Before I said something cutting, my better sense kicked in and I asked neutrally, "How's it going?"

Clark stepped back, sat down on the stump next to me, and sighed. "Slower than I'd like."

"That's not very good news," I said cautiously.

"Right," he agreed. "I think I've got the going up part. I still need to coordinate my motions on the x and y axes."

My tired mind grasped for meaning. My headache was back. Clark must have sensed my confusion, because he explained, "I can go straight up and down but I'm still having trouble with sideways and back-to-front." He pointed ruefully at his scuffed clothing. "As you can see."

"Hmm?"

"I've mastered part of it, but when I try to add something else, the part I've got slips away and I fall down."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Let's just say that I'm not ready for passengers yet." Clark sighed again.

I sighed too.

"Actually, what I came to ask you…" Clark trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Well, it's hard work, and…"

"Get to it."

"I was wondering if we could share another meal," he blurted out.

My first thought, of course, after the two years of privation, was to say, _No._ But sanity prevailed. Based on his pale complexion and sweaty shirt, Clark needed it for sustenance while he learned. It appeared that sunshine alone wasn't enough for this particular situation.

And I needed him. I needed him to learn to fly, or at least to run again. And, if he did learn to fly, we'd either pick up his backpack with the canned food in it, and/or fly to Metropolis base and get replenished there. I had a few days worth of food in my backpack – if he couldn't solve his, no, _our_, problem in a few days, it wouldn't matter anyway. So why not?

"Sure," I said, hoping that my delay hadn't been _too _obvious.

Clark didn't bother with a token protest this time. He merely went to my pack and picked out another meal, and heated it quickly. He offered it to me, but I didn't feel hungry. I waved at him to finish it. He polished it off very quickly.

"I wonder if you're not supposed to fly for half an hour after you've eaten," I said, in my half-daze.

"I think that's swimming." Clark's amused grin was breathtaking – I'd really never seen it before.

"You sure?" I asked. "Because flying here is just so common." At that we both laughed. It was kind of scary, really, how easily Clark was slipping under my defenses. First he'd shaken hands, then he'd started talking with me, then arguing with me, and now we were sharing jokes. He was hard to dislike, even though I knew I should.

"How _do_ you do it, anyway?" I asked. And I did want to know. I was curious. And who else could I ask? "How do you fly?"

Clark grimaced. "That's like asking how you walk. I'm learning it right now, you'd think I'd be able to explain it, but I can't. It's just…I stand there, and I let go of gravity…." Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe I can't describe it because I don't know it myself."

"So, you're sitting right there. Can you levitate just a bit?" A question I would have never dreamed of asking three years ago.

Clark just smiled and suddenly he was slightly higher. "Like I said, I've got the up-and-down part."

"Can you float sideways now?" It was interesting to have him at my direction.

Clark got a different sort of concentrating look, and slowly he moved sideways, still in midair, still with no visible means of support.

"And now can you turn a somersault?"

He squinted even more and began to turn. Suddenly he fell onto the stump and then the ground, with a large thump.

I felt obscurely disappointed. I shrugged. "It was worth a try."

He stood up, dusted himself off. "Still needs work." And once again he strode to the middle of the clearing. Once again he began his slow rising and falling. This time he combined the upward movements with various sideways and tipping motions. And, as before, watching the monotonic regularity of his exercises hypnotized me, made me drift off into sleep.

I woke at twilight, feeling better. Not back to 100%, but much improved from the headachy, weak, and nauseous wraith I'd been in the morning. I sensed Clark's presence at the same time he came over.

"Martha? You awake?"

I got the feeling that he knew very well I was awake but asked the question for courtesy's sake. "Yes."

I took a short walk around the clearing, enjoying the feeling of stretching my legs, breathing deeply even with the cold. All too soon I felt wobbly. This concussion was seriously affecting my endurance.

I headed to the outhouse again, accepting Clark's escort this time as a matter of course. In truth, I was actually somewhat grateful, as the weak sun had dipped over the horizon and, lacking starlight and moonlight, the forest was incredibly dark.

We went back to our campsite, and Clark fixed another meal for both of us. Neither of us said anything. I watched as he heated the water. In the dark, I could see his eyes, glowing red. I flinched. It was all too much like a horror movie, where the girl goes into the forest with the guy who turns out to be an axe murderer. Unfortunately, if my life was a movie, no one had yelled at the screen, "Don't go into the woods with him!" at any time where I could have heard the advice.

Clark must have detected my quick intake of breath and probably, too, the way my heartbeat had sped up. The red glow winked out and I heard him sigh. I wondered what he would do.

All he did was angle his body so that, when he re-activated the heat vision, I could not see his eyes. I thought about saying something. But what? Should I apologize? No, it was him that was the alien. He was the one with the creepy eyes. Besides, we'd already touched on this. And - and –

He interrupted my ruminations by passing me a bowl of hot stew and a mug of tea. I gladly stopped thinking about uncomfortable alien powers and dug in.

I didn't hear Clark eating his share. "Did you make some for yourself?" I asked him.

Uncomfortably, he answered, "Well…"

"Clark, we went through this before. You have to eat so you can get us out of here."

"I know that, Martha," he said. "I'll eat later."

It came to me. He'd seen how I reacted to the heat vision. I actually felt a little ashamed.

"I thought we were partners," I said, ruthlessly playing that card.

"Well, um, yes."

"And partners, I think, would share a meal and discuss how the day's work went. Not that I have much to say, mind you, other than that I have a concussion and I spent most of the day sleeping. But I'm sure you have a lot to tell. And it's rather rude of me to sit here eating in front of my partner when he's not. It makes me think he really doesn't want to be partners."

Whoops. Where did _that _come from? Didn't that imply that _I _wanted to be partners with Clark?

I wished we had a campfire. Things were always homier around a campfire. And I could look at the fire. That was always soothing. But A) we didn't want to attract attention – we weren't all that far, as the crow flies, from the men who had beaten us; and B) we really didn't need it, with Clark here.

A tiny little laugh came from Clark. His voice came out of the darkness. "I most certainly do want to be partners with the famous Martha Clark," he said, almost teasingly. Somehow I could tell that the humor masked a deep longing. It scared me. Was he having feelings for me? What kind of feelings? In the other world, I was his mother. Was _I _having feelings for _him_, that I could hear the unspoken?

"But I don't want to, uh, annoy, uh, or scare, uh, my partner, uh, by using…." He trailed off in a mumble.

"What was that?" I pounced. "I didn't quite hear that last."

Clark sighed. "I didn't want to scare _my partner _by using Kryptonian powers. Especially in front of her."

"Well, Clark," I said tartly, "even though I _have_ been hit on the head, I still remember that, indeed, yes, you _are_ a Kryptonian. You have made that abundantly clear throughout the past twenty-four hours. And, _because _I have been hit on the head," I took a deep breath and felt shaky, not because of the concussion this time, "I have decided not to get scared at any of your Kryptonian powers. Not to get scared when I see you doing something alien." My voice came out a lot more trembly and low than I wanted it to for the last bit. "Because we're partners, right?"

It was a lie. I _was_ going to get scared when I saw Clark do alien things. Except that, if I was going to work with Clark, I had to change my own thoughts. And the first way of doing that was to act the way you wanted to be. If you could visualize it, you could become it.

The silence stretched out. I fidgeted. I heard a branch fall to the ground, somewhere in the woods.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked cautiously, hopefully.

I said nothing. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Are you sure?" he repeated, a little more desperately. "I mean, Kryptonian powers have….changed this world, not for the better. And…"

"It wasn't you, though, was it?" I challenged him.

"No." He sighed deeply. "_This _is my world, not Krypton. Earth should be its own blue self, not some mockup of an ice planet. If I had been here, I would have fought – " He chopped off his statement, inhaled deeply. "I would never hurt you, Martha." He said it very quietly.

"Well, I've got nothing to worry about, then," I said, faux-brightly. "And since we're partners, and my partner has just done some cooking for me and forgot to do some for himself, I'm sure I won't mind seeing him heat up his own dinner."

It was actually easier that I couldn't see his face. I could hear the smile in his voice. It was mixed with a little challenge. "All right, then."

I heard some rustling of pans and packages. Then the eyes glowed red again. The glow wasn't aimed at me – thank God. Clark's gaze pointed downward. The eyes actually gave off enough light to show the pale silhouette of the face.

I carefully took some deep breaths. "That's really interesting," I commented. "You look like…."

The eyes winked out. "Like what?"

"Um…"

"Like what?" Insistently.

"Well, um….a demon."

"I thought you weren't going to be scared of the Kryptonian powers."

"I'm not!" I asserted (untruthfully). "It just looks like a demon. I mean, a demon from the movies. You know, that's how the TV shows and the movies would tell you that a person was really a demon or something – they'd put weird-looking contact lenses on the person. Didn't you ever watch _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_? They were always doing that. Cheap costume effect."

I could hear the amusement in Clark's voice. "I've seen my share of _Buffy _episodes. I'm surprised that you have."

"Well, you know, the Hellmouth, kind of like working with lawyers all day long."

Clark laughed out loud.

"I shouldn't have said that." My emotions were running high. "There were some really good people there…here I am making lawyer jokes." Tears gathered at my eyes. "They all died. Every one of them."

Clark sat silently for a moment. He tentatively reached over and patted my hand.

"They're all gone." I tried to hold back, but I couldn't. I began sobbing. Quietly. I'd learned to do things quietly.

Clark only held my hand. He stayed absolutely still, until I wound down with a few gasping sobs. Then he let go of my hand, did that blurring thing, and presented me with some tissue. OK, it was toilet paper, but I appreciated it. I blew my nose loudly. Back to normal. I had to act normal. What had we been talking about, anyway? Oh yes.

"So anyway, did you finish heating your dinner, or did my intemperate comment put you off?"

"It could use a little more heating," he said quietly.

"Go to it, then," I semi-ordered. I could do it. I could watch him use the heat vision. I wouldn't be afraid.

I saw the red blink on again. _Think of something else besides murder, Martha. Think of…._

"Can you still see when you do that?" I asked, interested. I'd decided not to be afraid of Clark's powers anymore. Therefore, that left being curious.

"Yes," Clark said. That cautious tone was back in his voice.

"How does it work, anyway?" Now I was wondering. "If it's heat vision, it's down in the infrared – you don't have some sort of microwave vision, do you?"

Clark said slowly, "You know, actually, I never really thought about that. I just….got the ability one day, and ….." He trailed off again, then rallied. "I guess I should have investigated it more." I heard him chewing and swallowing. "But how could I ask someone? I mean, in the other world. What would I say? 'Hey, could you hold this instrument while I melt it by looking at it?'" His voice was bitter.

"You weren't known as an alien – nobody knew about you there?" I asked. I'd heard him say that before, but now it hit me with full force. _He lived among us….._

"Well, my parents, of course," he said awkwardly. In the other world I was his mother. I didn't want to think about that. "…and Chloe, and Pete Ross – a friend – he found my spaceship – and Lana, I told her…." Clark's voice was quiet in the darkness. It helped that we couldn't see each other. Somehow it was easier to have this frank conversation in shadow. Fervently, he added, "I wish no one here knew." He said that very quietly.

"If Lois Lane hadn't found you out, there at the _Planet_ building, would you have revealed yourself?"

"I….don't know. It's a moot point now." His voice wavered. "It would be so much easier…." Firmly, "But I would have fought against Zod, fought to free Earth, even if I had revealed myself." He chuckled dryly. "I guess it's good in a way that I got found out so soon, and met up with the Resistance right away. We couldn't have defeated Zod and Brainiac without each other, and if I'd searched you out, rather than being captured, I don't think any of you would have accepted my help."

"We'd had good reason to fear Kryptonians. And right up to the last minute, hardly any of us believed you'd stay faithful," I agreed, unwelcome memories stirring. "We were desperate. So we used you. But you're right, Clark. If you'd come to us, I think we would have run from you, or else lured you into a trap and killed you out of hand." Way to be honest here, Martha. Somehow the cold night air, the quiet voice, the isolation all encouraged this strange conversation. "But we captured you, and held you prisoner, and you got to talking…"

Clark laughed mirthlessly. "Well, it worked out OK in the end."

"Did it really?"

"What?"

"Did it really? Work out, I mean?"

He sighed. "Zod and Aethyr and Brainiac are dead, and Earth is free. That's the important thing."

We both thought of, and didn't mention, the fact that most of Earth's population was dead, the climate change had wreaked ecological catastrophe on a parallel with the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event, and humanity was scrabbling for survival. We both knew that. No point in reiterating it.

"And you?" I asked.

"What?"

"What about you?"

"I don't know what you mean." Clark _did _know, or at least he had an inkling.

"How are things for you?"

"How are things for _you_?" he riposted. "I mean, here you are, former corporate lawyer, born to privilege. And now you're camping out in the cold, with a guy you hardly know except that he's one of the race that mutilated your planet?"

"I guess when you've fought for survival, your priorities change."

"I guess they do."

There was a long silence.

"I hate it, you know," Clark blurted out.

"What?"

"Walking down the hallways, and hearing people go, _That's the alien._ And when I go off on a mission, like to the oil rig, I'm OK till people find out who I am, and then the gossip gets around, and everybody knows, and nobody will really talk to me." He laughed miserably. "There's always that caution, the hesitation. People are afraid to tell me what they think I don't want to hear. They're afraid of what I'll do to them if I don't like what they say."

"Um…"

"_You _know. You would hardly talk to me when we met for this mission, you were all worried about what I was going to do to you."

"Um…."

"God, I'm just like Jimmy Stewart in the movie," he said sardonically. "I wasted a lot of time moping in my loft, but looking back, I see that I really did have a wonderful life." He laughed bitterly. "Now I'm trapped in a world that my race basically destroyed, where everybody hates me and carries kryptonite."

I couldn't help but finger the lead-wrapped parcel in my pocket.

"Thanks for not using it, by the way," Clark said.

"You knew I had it?" He'd had plenty of time – I'd been unconscious or asleep. Why hadn't he taken it away from me? It was wrapped in lead – it was safe for him.

"_Everyone_ that comes in contact with me carries kryptonite," he said quietly. "And, given my previous history, where I insisted that you were my mother, you probably thought I was some weird stalker on top of being an alien."

"Well…."

"Ah, don't worry about it, Martha. It's the way things are." Resignedly. He sighed deeply.

Then I heard his voice take on a tinge of amusement as he went back to his litany of woe. From this I could tell that he was over the momentary self-pity. Clark affected a pronounced whine. "Plus, the food here – when I can even get it – sucks."

I latched onto this to lighten the mood. "Hey! Those were the finest of ramen noodles."

"Yeah. _Your _food is fine, Martha. When I'm at Metropolis base I get canned beets." Now he was definitely chuckling.

"Not your favorite?" I asked lightly.

"No. I'd much rather be having dinner with you." That fell flat. He scrambled for words. "It's funny – you're feeding me in whichever world I come to."

More silence. I really didn't want to think about my counterpart.

When Clark spoke again, his voice was cool and self-contained. "Well, it's late…."

"The dishes?"

"I'll get the dishes." It was a foolish question. I'd seen him wash them and then sterilize them with his heat vision.

I took the hint. "I guess I'll go to bed, then." I heard Clark stand up. "Unless you've advanced enough in your studies to take us to Metropolis base tonight?"

He sucked in a breath. "Unfortunately, not yet. I can't guarantee your safety."

"Well, then, if you can't fly me to Metropolis, maybe you could escort me one last time to the facilities?" I definitely needed someone who could see in the dark now. Otherwise I'd be squatting at the edge of the clearing, and that would be a big waste of the outhouse. A big waste. Ha ha.

He led the way and I followed. The path was becoming a little more familiar. When I came out, Clark had, without comment, arranged another bowl of hot water and soap for washing. "Thank you," I murmured. It actually _was _nice to camp with Clark – there were a lot of nonstandard amenities.

"Good night."

"Good night."

I entered the tent and zipped it closed, then wiggled my way out of my parka and outer clothing. I actually had some nightclothes which I squirmed into, letting my outerwear air out.

Guilt overcame me. Clark didn't have his tent. His pack - if it hadn't been stolen already – was at the top of a tall tree miles away. He had only what he wore, and whatever he carried in his pockets.

"Clark?"

"Yes, Martha?"

The words froze in my mouth. What was I going to do, invite him into my tent? No way. The fear arose in me once again before I sternly told it I wasn't going to be afraid anymore. But on the other hand, we were partners….

"Um….are you OK?"

Clark must have understood my unspoken dilemma. His words seemed directed at easing my qualms. "I'm right here, Martha. I piled up a bunch of the pine boughs. Excellent bedding."

"It's cold?"

A laugh. "Don't worry about me."

"Well, if you're OK…."

"I'm OK." A pause. "Good night, then."

"Good night." My conscience salved, I curled up in my sleeping bag. He'd be fine, I told myself. Just because a human would freeze out there, with no shelter….of course, he wasn't human. That's why he had been sent with me.

I fell asleep and had restless dreams of what it would be like to have an alien son.

* * *

_Author's note: Where Clark says, _"It's just…I stand there, and I let go of gravity…" _that's a quote from a wonderful fanfic, "The Next Step" by Sue S. It can be found in the Lois and Clark Fanfic Archive, at lcfanfic dot com. Teri Hatcher-Lois has just found out about Clark's other identity, and... well, here's a quote: _

_

* * *

"Can I ask you a personal question?"_

_He looks surprised but he nods. "Okay."_

_"How do you do it? Fly, I mean."_

_"How do I fly?" He blinks. I guess this isn't a question he was_  
_expecting._

_"I finally have the chance for a real one-on-one, completely_  
_off-the-record, only to satisfy my own curiosity, conversation_  
_with Superman. I can ask you the questions I would ask Clark,_  
_but could never work up the nerve to ask Superman. So tell me,_  
_Clark, how do you do it?"_

_He looks at his hands as he considers the question. After a few_  
_moments he shrugs. "I don't know, that's like asking how you_  
_walk, you know? Walking isn't something you put a lot of thought_  
_into."_

_"Oh."_

_He sees I'm disappointed with his answer. "I have to think about_  
_it a little. I mean, I put my hand up," he raises his right arm._  
_"And then I just kinda push up..." He floats a few inches off_  
_the bed. "Once I'm going, it's not hard but I do have to..." He_  
_floats back onto the bed. "I have to let go of gravity, if that_  
_makes sense."_

_

* * *

_

_Go read "The Next Step" - you won't be disappointed._


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn awoke me, although it lacked the birdsong I'd become accustomed to back _before. _The muted sun seemed a little brighter than usual this morning. I strapped on my parka and boots and crawled out of the tent. Clark was already up, figuratively and literally. I saw him hovering, vertical and first, then slowly tipping his body horizontally.

He saw me exiting the tent and waved at me. He touched down gracefully. "Good morning, Martha."

"Morning," I said sullenly. The thing I hated most about this new, post-alien-invasion world was that there was no coffee. Clark took the hint and wisely said nothing as I staggered to the outhouse. He did present me with the soap and another steaming bowl of water as I came back, then ostentatiously absented himself.

I cast caution to the winds, took the soap, water, and my clothes to the outhouse. There, out of the wind (and with very little stench, since everything was frozen), I had a thorough wash-up before I got dressed. Fortunately, I'd packed clean socks and underwear.

I sighed in relief as I walked back to the tent. Clark waited a decent amount of time, enough for me to get my tousled hair combed out, before he reappeared. I wondered if he'd been viewing me from afar – it was certainly within his power. But I didn't think so – he just didn't seem that type of guy. I shrugged my shoulders. If he was, I couldn't do anything about it anyway.

Clark greeted me, then blurred off. Before I could gasp, he presented me with a mug of hot tea, and asked me, "How are you feeling?"

The headache was almost all the way gone. "A lot better," I said honestly.

He got that squinty look again. I coughed significantly. Last night he'd said he'd never hurt me, and I'd said I wouldn't be afraid of the Kryptonian powers. But there was something demeaning about being looked at like an object, being X-rayed at will.

I meant to instill courtesy in Clark. His regular manners were fine. The using-the-powers-manners needed some work. Probably, because in his own world, he'd done everything surreptitiously – how _could _he ask people?

Clark blushed. "Excuse me. I was….I'm sorry. Martha, may I have your permission to scan you, um, check out your concussion, see how you're healing?"

I took a long sip of hot tea, and thought about saying no. It was kind of creepy, to be _looked at _that way. For the first time, I understood, in what seemed so odd to Americans, why some Muslim women actually wanted to wear the veil. To be protected against gazes…..

On the other hand, we _were _partners, and he _had_ asked. "OK."

He squinted again and stared at me – not meeting my eyes – for what seemed like a long time.

"Well?" I demanded.

"I can still see the bruising," Clark reported, "and there's still a lot of swelling. It still hurts, right?"

"Right," I confirmed. "If I shake my head or move it too fast."

"Well, don't do that, then," he said absently, still staring. I cleared my throat again and he jumped a little bit. His squint relaxed and he met my eyes. "It _is _healing," Clark said. "I can tell that. But there's a long way to go." He looked worried. "I've really got to get you back to Metropolis base….you need real shelter…"

"That would be nice," I said, suddenly tired again. He offered his arm and I took it. The concussion talk had actually made me dizzy again. He helped me settle myself back into the reclining stump-chair he'd made for me yesterday.

Another blur, another whoosh, and he was offering me breakfast. I checked, and he pointed out his own portion. He'd given up trying to convince me that he didn't need to eat. We were going to share, darn it.

"How are you coming along?" I asked after we'd both wolfed our skimpy meals.

"Fine, I think," Clark said. "I'll try to get higher than ten feet off the ground today."

"OK." What else could I say? It wasn't as if I could give him flying advice. Legal advice, certainly - if the laws still applied and if we still had things like courtrooms and judges. But what flying advice could I give him? "Watch out for birds?" Yeah, that would be really helpful.

"I'll start practicing," Clark broke into my rapidly-spinning-towards-self-pity reverie. He'd done the dishes with another one of those speedy blurs, I belatedly noticed.

"OK."

I settled in for a long day, still tired, still with a headache. Clark practiced in the middle of the clearing, rising and falling, twisting, spinning, assuming all sorts of body positions while maintaining his float. I almost laughed as I realized how blasé I'd become about seeing a levitating man. Ho-hum.

I called to him a few times. He fell down the first time, his concentration broken. He said some sort of exasperated word that I didn't hear, and I waved at him blithely. "Just testing."

He stood up, then levitated a meter off the ground. "It still needs work." His wide smile took the sting out of his rueful words.

I circled around the clearing, wanting to get my blood moving and my legs working. The mild exercise helped clear away some of the lingering headache. I called again to Clark, and this time he responded without losing his levitation. My next prank was to make a snowball and lob it at him. I crowed proudly when it slammed right into the center of his back.

He dropped again, and turned to me in surprise. "Martha!"

"If you can't handle that, Clark, you still need work!" I retorted. "And no throwing back!"

I'd read him well; he was molding a snowball in his hands. He reluctantly dropped it. An idea came to me. I came over to him. "Here, give me that."

He passed over the snowball.

"Now fly."

Clark nodded, and obediently levitated.

"Don't just stand….float there! I want to see you moving all around!"

He shrugged and began slowly circling around the clearing. He stayed in a vertical position with respect to the ground. I wondered about wind resistance. Certainly that would be a factor if he flew faster. Shouldn't he fly horizontally? Didn't designers make airplanes with rounded-pointy noses for that reason? It just seemed like common sense.

I held up the snowball. "I know I won't catch you again. But I'm going to throw the snowball and I want you to melt it with the heat vision while it's in midair."

Clark raised his eyebrows. This obviously hadn't occurred to him. "OK."

"And you have to keep moving. No staying in one position."

"OK." Clark was getting into the spirit of it now.

"Ready? On three." I wound up, getting ready to throw. "One. Two. Three." I didn't throw.

"Martha?" Clark asked. "I thought you said – "

I threw the snowball, well away from me. Clark cut off his sentence and I saw the eyes grow red. The snowball plopped to the ground, undamaged until its final splat against a tree trunk. And Clark promptly fell down too, landing on his rear in a most undignified manner.

"I thought you said on three!" he protested.

"Clark," I said with an evil smile, "I lied. I'm a lawyer. Get used to it."

"Hey," he said in mock anger, not getting up from where he sat in the snow, "any more of that and I'll be forced to pull out my lawyer jokes."

"If that's your highest card, you're going to lose," I informed him. "I know more lawyer jokes than anyone. I've heard them all before."

"Yeah? Well, how many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Easy. Everyone knows it's four. One to hold the bulb, two to turn the ladder, and one to sue the electric company."

"Wow. You _have _heard them before."

"You're delaying," I pointed out sweetly.

"Yes." He got up slowly, and once again I was struck by how tall he was. "Martha?"

"Yes?"

"It's a good idea," Clark said, seriously now. "Would you mind throwing some more snowballs?"

"Sure." What else did I have to do? I bent down – the snow here in the middle of the clearing was scant, wind-blown to a thin layer. Clark had trampled much of it in his previous day's work on flying, which seemed to have involved a lot of falling, too. Not good snowball material. I headed for the edge of the clearing, where better snow still remained under the pine boughs.

Another blur and whoosh, and several piles of snowballs lay scattered around the clearing edges. "Figured I'd save you the tedious making-the-snowball part," Clark said.

I wondered if I should get offended at this use of powers. Nah. I knew what – who he was and what he could do, and he knew I knew. He was just trying to speed things up here.

"OK." I took the first snowball from the pile. "The plan is, you fly, I throw, you zap the snowball with the heat vision."

"Right," Clark said, smiling nervously.

"Just….just don't zap me, OK?" I couldn't help the tremble in my voice.

Surprise, then understanding, crossed Clark's face. "You don't have to worry, Martha," he said, in utter seriousness. "And you….please just throw me some easy ones till I get some more practice, OK?"

"OK." We had a bargain. I tossed the snowball into my other mitten. "I'll start with this pile, and throw them that way." I indicated the wide area to my right. "You have to get them from various angles and heights, OK?"

"OK. Go." He lifted off. I tossed the first snowball, gently, underhand. I wasn't looking at him this time, but I saw the ball explode into steam in midair.

"Can we try that again?" Clark asked.

"Sure." I tossed the second snowball, doing my best to replicate the angle and position of the first throw. This time the snowball melted.

"I dialed down the intensity a little bit," Clark confessed.

"Yeah, good, work on that too." I felt a little nervous. If that heat vision beam had hit me….humans were ninety-eight percent water. The snowball had turned to steam. I gulped and tossed another spheroid. It melted.

"Keep 'em coming," Clark called out. He sounded happy. I caught a glimpse, and indeed, he was smiling. What did it feel like, flying? I threw another snowball, a little harder.

"Horizontal position, Clark," I called. I wondered if, in the other world, I could have gone to Clark's Little League games. Did they let him play Little League? Would he have been hitting mile-long home runs at age eight? I tossed more snowballs, some irregularly shaped, as Clark floated around the clearing, looking as if he reclined on some invisible floating bed. I called out various instructions – "Arms above the head! On your back! Over your shoulder!" - as I threw what seemed an unending series of snowballs.

Clark missed many of the first pile that I threw. He missed them when he got into a different position. And he missed more when I demanded he do some contortion. And he missed even more when I asked him to dial up the heat, so that the snowballs turned to steam.

He especially missed more when I threw them not-very-far away from me. I hoped – and feared – that this meant that he was thinking before he zapped. On the one hand, I liked it, since I was the potential victim of any accident. On the other hand, what I was hoping to accomplish was that for Clark, using his heat vision while flying would be automatic, if the need arose.

I started asking him random questions as I threw. "What's the capital of South Dakota?"

"Pierre." A snowball turned to mush.

"I thought it was Bismarck." Another toss, this time disguised behind my back.

"That's North Dakota." He missed that snowball.

"Have you ever been to Pierre?" I made another throw, this one an easy lob in front of me. "And backwards horizontal position, please."

Clark contorted himself. I saw the eyes glow red. The snowball splattered to the ground, untouched. "No," Clark said, landing. "I've been to Metropolis, though." He strode over to me. "Are you OK, Martha?"

Why would he ask me if I was OK? Oh, yes, I'd had a concussion. But I was doing fine. Brisk air, mild exercise, verbal sparring – a fine day out.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "You, on the other hand, need a lot more work." I stared him down until he said, "OK," and backed off.

"This time you're not allowed to zap the snowball until you're in the air," I said. "And you can't lift off until after I throw."

"OK," he said, smiling.

"And no fair using speedy-speed," I added, a little irked.

"Speedy-speed?" Clark parroted, now smiling broadly at the expression.

"You know what I mean. You have to go the slowest you can and still make the play."

Now Clark was frowning. "You're really giving me a good workout here."

"That's the plan, Kent." I couldn't help returning his smile. Somehow it didn't hurt to call him _Kent. _ Strange.

"Lay it on me."

"OK. Remember, you asked for it," I teased him, as I threw the snowball. I put some distance into this toss, wanting to give him extra time.

A whoosh filled the air and Clark snapped into existence across the clearing. He'd run into a small tree. With a cacophony of creaks, groans, and whishing boughs, the tree collapsed.

We both stared at it.

"I don't think that was on the program," I finally said.

Clark blushed. "Martha, um…..that's what I was talking about when I said the super speed was glitching."

"I thought you were trying to fly," I said inanely.

"Well, uh, yes. When you set up those conditions for the latest test, it got all mixed up, the running and the flying, I mean." He dug at the ground with a booted toe. "Er, I guess I need to practice a little on my own, yes?"

"I think that would be a good idea," I said weakly. He didn't have control, that was obvious. Suddenly it seemed a very dangerous idea to be in the same clearing with Clark Kent. "Um, we were down to our last snowball pile anyway…um…." I dithered as I scurried back to the tent. "Um, I'll just rest awhile in the tent…"

"Can I get you anything? Hot tea?" Clark asked solicitously.

"Ah, no, I'll be fine." I was speaking the truth when I added, "I am getting a little tired and I think I'll take a short nap." I gave a quick inhalation. "You'll work on that running – flying thing, right?" I was already easing myself into the tent. "I mean, you want to get _right to work _on that, don't you, Clark?"

Clark took the hint. Maybe having the tent flap zipped closed right in his face was a little too obvious. "Uh, yeah. Right to work." I heard him walk away, then come back. "Get some rest, Martha." He didn't sound annoyed. His voice was gentle – and concerned.

I eased off my boots, took off the parka, and squirmed into my sleeping bag. I hadn't lied to Clark – once the excitement of the snowball game had worn off (or, more accurately, been frightened away), I realized that I was tired. I'd overdone it on the activity and my head hurt again. I left my hat on for warmth and quickly slid into sleep. All through my restless nap I heard irregular whooshings. Clark was indeed practicing.

* * *

When I woke that afternoon, Clark came to me. He actually looked a little tired. The clearing was scuffed and several trees had evidence of damage. I looked at one of the piles of firewood and raised my eyebrows. He greeted me with a nod.

"How are you coming along with the running – flying thing?" I asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

"I think I might have it," Clark said. He _was _tired – it was in his voice.

_Good! Let's head out to Metropolis, then! _ That was what I wanted to say. What actually came out of my mouth was, "How are you feeling?"

A fleeting expression of surprise crossed Clark's face. I wondered why, and then it came to me. All our time together I hadn't asked how he was doing. Not once. He'd asked me, what seemed a hundred times. And I had assumed that since he was Kryptonian, there was no need to ask. No need, even in the face of torture and mutilation. I hadn't asked, even though Clark spent hours in mental and physical toil. Learning a new skill didn't come all that easy – I knew that. And to learn so much in only two days – that was hard work.

"Fine," Clark replied neutrally. At my sharp glance, he added, "OK. A little tired."

"What's the plan?" I asked. Again Clark was surprised, for me to be so blatantly offering the initiative to him. I'd made it clear at the beginning of our trip that I set the agenda, he followed it. He was to follow my orders. But the last three days had been an intense lesson in the art of survival. We both knew that we had to get back to Metropolis base, to report what had happened. And more importantly, we had to get back because we were running out of food. Maybe that didn't matter to Clark, but it did to me. The cold weather demanded frequent refueling.

But Clark was the one with the abilities. He was the one who knew how far he could go and what his limits were. I felt the usual underlying disquiet. _That _would probably never go away. By now I believed that Clark was telling the truth – that he _was _on our side, and that he would not harm us – but things could always change.

I deliberately steered my mind away from those channels and faced Clark.

"What's the plan?" I asked again.

He sighed. "I think I have most of the flying ability under control," he started. "I'd like to get a little practice at altitude, though, before I take you."

"Couldn't you just run me – run us back?"

Clark sighed again. "If we were on the roads, or in open country, sure. But in this mess?" He indicated the forest around us. "It doesn't hurt me when I run into a tree, but…."

_The same can't be said for you. _It was unspoken but obvious. I had to defer to his knowledge.

"Let's discuss this over dinner, then," I said firmly. I rummaged in the pack and pulled out a ration pack. "Last meal, Clark."

"That has an ominous sound to it," he said, amusement in his voice.

Oh. "I mean it's the last one we have."

"You should have it, Martha."

"No."

"No?" Amusement again in his tone.

"No. For one thing, I'm not all that hungry." A partial truth – the concussion had decreased my appetite. "And I've been sleeping most of the last two days. You've been working."

Clark seemed to waver.

"And besides, you're my ticket out of here. So it's in my best interest to feed you. I need to have you flying, not falling out of the sky."

Whoops. Suddenly I wished I hadn't brought _that _image to mind.

Clark had a sardonic smile. "Well, since you put it that way…" He gently took the ration pack from me and gathered up the cooking utensils. "If you will have a seat and allow me to do the cooking… We'll split it."

We sat quietly, finishing the meal. Clark sighed again. Really, he was very good at sighing. Actually, he sounded like he sighed all the time. Did the guy just mope a lot or what?

"I was thinking of going straight up and then trying out the speed. You know, with clear sailing." He gestured towards the trees at the edge of the clearing, my tent, our stump-chairs – obstructions which I'd made use of when I'd helped him test his flying ability.

"You might test how fast you can get to Metropolis base."

Clark gave a mirthless chuckle. "I will. But Martha," he leaned forward, speaking earnestly, _"_I don't really_ know._ I don't know anything about this except what I've learned in the last two days. And it frightens me," he swallowed, "it just _petrifies _me, to think that I might be carrying you, and something might….go wrong." He motioned again to our surroundings. "We obviously have to get out of here, and soon." He pointed toward our empty dishes. "But I wish I'd had more time to practice."

I nodded.

"Martha, I don't want to hurt you. Anymore." He said it very quietly. Underneath I heard the guilt and the fear. He'd already given me a concussion, at least he felt responsible for it. I still blamed our attackers, but certainly Clark felt he had contributed. "So I have to do everything I can to make sure…"

"All right." How could I not respond that that naked plea? I would stop dropping pointed hints.

"If you're OK, I'll get going as soon as I do the dishes." Without giving me a chance to protest, he slipped into his speed and blurred around the camp. The dishes were clean before I'd finished drawing breath.

"OK, then." I stood up.

Clark stood in the center of the clearing. He took a deep breath. It was as if he was setting off on some journey of discovery.

"Fly well," I murmured.

He looked at me, startled, then nodded. Without a word, he lifted off, slowly at first, then increasing speed till he rocketed up above the cloud layer and out of my sight.

I stood, looking up for a moment. Despite the events of the last three years, despite knowing what Kryptonians could do, despite working with Clark for the past two days, it still astounded me to see a man fly.

I paced around the clearing nervously. Clark wasn't here anymore – the very fact of his presence had inhibited me. Now, alone, I could think. _Thinking clearly_ might be too much to ask for, given my head injury and current surroundings. What were my feelings now? What did I want?

Well, certainly I wanted my old life back – Martha Clark, boardroom lawyer, who had lunch at sidewalk cafes in Metropolis on sunny days, who lived in a human world, where alien invasions were something that happened only in summer movies.

Unfortunately, as I knew all too well, that life wasn't coming back. I had to play the cards I was dealt. I'd sustained myself for years on anger, resentment, and plotting for revenge. I'd gotten my revenge by proxy, when Lex and Chloe and Lois and everyone else went to the Arctic Fortress and killed the Kryptonian invaders.

After that, I'd had resentment. Resentment that a Kryptonian had been allowed to live. Anger that others couldn't see the risk in letting him live, letting him roam around freely. Resentment that he'd lived when so many others had died. Resentment that he claimed a relationship with me - that, in another world, I was his mother. The nagging echo of what could have been.

And now, things were changing. Over the last few months I'd finally seen the devastation. I'd been in hiding, or confined to Metropolis base, for years. Now, since the overthrow of the Kryptonian invaders, I'd been out. I'd traveled all around. I'd seen what remained of our once-prosperous country. It hurt. And Clark was trying to restore things. At least that's what he said. More to the point, Lex had told me that too.

Clark himself, now that I'd been in his company even for just a few days, didn't act alien. He acted like a human. That's what threw me off, made me uncertain. He reacted to the devastation just as I had done, albeit with a little more intensity, and perhaps the occasional morbid humor. Why did he have to act so human? Why did he have to act like he cared? Why couldn't he have been arrogant, distant, just plain evil, like Zod? I sniffed angrily.

Why did he have to be so nice?

Why did he protect me, respond to my caustic comments with mild words, and cater to my every whim? How had he the courage to let himself face terrible pain to save me? How could he be like that?

And – I danced around it, I didn't want to think about it – what was I like in that other world, the world where I'd taken in a toddler from a spaceship, a world where Jonathan and myself had never had our bitter arguments, never divorced? Where we'd kept our marriage together, shared an adopted son, joined in keeping his secret? What was that world like, where Zod's invasion had been stopped before the world ever heard about it, where I was a U.S. Senator (I had to smile at that – I always knew I could do it), and where Clark Kent lived a quiet life on his farm, no one knowing that an alien lived among us?

A world where I didn't have to feel guilty about surviving when so many others had died?

I sat down on the tree stump and burst into tears. The sobs of three years broke out. Before today, I hadn't cried since that long-ago day when Brainiac had forced me to watch Zod and Aethyr at their genocidal amusements. I'd vowed myself to hardness, to unfeeling duty, to revenge. I'd gotten it, and where was I now? I cried for the rape of my planet. I cried for the loss of the blue sky, the lack of the sun. I cried for all those who had died, especially the friends and comrades in the fight against the invasion, those who'd been lost in our numerous unsuccessful attempts, and in the final successful one. I'd expected to die any day, and here I was three years later, still alive.

It was harder to live.

I cried myself out. I trailed off into tiny little sniffles, rubbing my eyes with the back of my gloves. Inside I felt only emptiness. My righteous anger had been swept away, leaving me with nothing.

What should I do now? Of course, I should work on the reconstruction, the rebuilding of whatever of human society could be saved. That was a process that would take years, decades. I mentally quailed. Better to think about Clark.

Clark. In the emptiness, I could think about him without the hate. In this strange silent moment, I understood how my hate of the Kryptonians had colored my view of him. If I'd met him on the street, or at a business meeting, I would have liked him immediately.

In the exhaustion after my crying jag I could see him in new eyes. He was a young man, uncertain of where he fit into the world. He thought like a human, but he wasn't human. A person obsessed with keeping his secret and successful at that for years. Until he was thrown into this world, where everyone knew what he was, and everyone feared and hated him for what others of his race had done.

A man who had incredible power but who seemed reluctant to use it, at least on behalf of himself. He'd used his Kryptonian abilities, probably more than I suspected, to keep me safe. And comfortable. I thought back to what Charlie Greene had told me at Metropolis base – "When you go camping with Clark you always have hot water." It was true. And I'd heard about the work he'd done elsewhere – helping to rebuild bridges, lifting heavy objects so that teams could repair or restore, or simply save time and lives.

I chuckled sadly. I had a classic case of Orwellian doublethink going on. I knew Kryptonians couldn't be trusted. They would abuse their power. And here I was, starting to trust Clark. Doublethink – don't trust them, but trust him. Kryptonians would use their power for ill. But I was already tempted to say, _"But Clark wouldn't do that!"_

I sat up suddenly. _Would _he do that? Would he hurt someone to save his life? He hadn't hurt Hank Hall or the other men, but maybe that was only because they'd gotten the drop on him first. What would he have done if they'd failed to incapacitate him? Zod would have had no mercy – I'd seen that.

Clark seemed nice, but he hadn't been tested, really. I sniffled again. It was easy to have high moral standards when you were invulnerable, when you could catch fired bullets in mid-air. Your ethics might be a little more flexible if you were facing harm yourself.

I ignored that niggling voice at the back of my head. _What about self-defense? Every human is allowed that right! _My law background – and my common sense – bubbled up. I couldn't stop that voice sometimes.

I didn't know. I didn't know what was wrong or right anymore. I sat, thinking for a long time.

In the end, it came down to this: He was still a Kryptonian, with Kryptonian powers. A being that we couldn't control, if he decided that he didn't want to go along with us. In that situation, he would have to be killed for our safety. Of course, in that event, the tough part would be catching him. Or fighting him off, if he decided to kill us first, like Zod had done.

I shuddered. I found myself devising scenarios, making plans, allowing for contingencies. Before, I'd embraced these moments. Now, I really didn't want to think about them.

Ah well, Clark was a smart guy. No doubt he'd thought this all through right away. Why else his employment and his current situation? He'd be good. It was in his best interests to do so.

As I stopped pacing, I wondered about the other world. No one knew about him there. Would he use his powers for good if circumstances weren't forcing him to?

I broke into a smile as I considered it. If I'd raised him – if my counterpart was like the Martha Clark I'd been – of course he would.


	11. Chapter 11

I stopped at my stump-chair and sat down. I pulled "Pride and Prejudice" out of my pocket. I'd read the book a hundred times, but always found something new in it. It was perfect for these unsettled times. I remembered hearing once that veterans of the First World War, battle-scarred and shell-shocked, were given Jane Austen books to read while they recuperated from their physical and mental wounds. Her novels never touched on the horrors the veterans were trying to forget.

And so it had been with me. When I poured myself into the troubles of the Bennett family, with the concern for five daughters and how they were to marry well, I could forget. I grinned as I read the first sentence for the umpteenth time: _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. _

I read on, as Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy discovered each other. The familiar phrases comforted me, the descriptions of eighteenth-century society and etiquette curiously soothing. A breeze began. Mild at first, it soon grew gustier. I retreated to the tent, leaving the tent flap open to accommodate the sunlight.

I lost myself in the book for an indeterminate time. The Austenian spell broke when I found myself squinting at the print. It was almost dark.

I felt a twinge of worry. Where was Clark? We'd never discussed how long he would be away. A momentary tendril of fear wormed through my vitals. Surely he wouldn't leave me here….no food, alone, in the cold and dark? We seemed agreed that our plan was to go back to Metropolis base, _together._ Sure, he was going to do all the work, but he hadn't seemed to mind that before.

Or what if he'd been incapacitated again? We certainly hadn't expected meteor rock to be in the hands of those outside of Kansas. But it had been, and we'd been attacked, and only escaped by sheer bravery on Clark's part and the grace of God. What if he was being held prisoner somewhere? Or killed?

I spent a minute to consider the irony. Three days ago I was afraid _of _him. Now I was afraid _for _him. I resolutely took my mind off those gloomy scenarios. If they were true, then I was dead too. There was no way I could hike my way out from….wherever I was. I didn't even know that. I didn't know if there were roads nearby, how far away civilization was. I knew which way was north, from the stars, but that was about it.

I closed my mind to _that_, too. Things were going to be fine. Clark wasn't injured or dead somewhere, he was probably just distracted with the flying. He'd said himself that he wanted to get practice, right? And if he could fly as fast as he could speed, he was probably in some different time zone, and he didn't realize it was getting dark here….

Or maybe he was lost. I sat up as that occurred to me. Heck, it was actually pretty likely. We didn't have GPS. On our way to Colorado, we'd been navigating by road map and we'd stayed on the highways. And if Clark was flying, the constant cloud cover would prevent him from seeing the roads if he ascended to any altitude at all. I'd been in private planes before, and I knew how difficult it was to know where you were going, even with having a compass, map, altimeter, and being able to see the terrain below. That's why airports had radio beacons. That's why pilots filed a flight plan.

I sighed in exasperation as I realized Clark hadn't done that. Then I smiled ruefully. Of course he couldn't. He didn't know how to fly, not really. How could you file a flight plan when you didn't even know where you were going, or how you were doing it?

Of course, since there was no air traffic anymore, one reason for filing a flight plan – to stay out of the way of other air traffic – was moot. But, I told myself, we really should have talked a little bit more about this. It would have been nice to have an ETA. Just a few short words: "Gee, Clark, how long do you expect to be flying? Two hours? OK, I'll see you then."

_That _would have calmed my fears – and right now, for sure, I was afraid – very nicely.

I noticed now that the wind was whipping intently through the clearing. We hadn't had that before, and I wondered if a storm was coming.

Well, if Clark was lost, presumably he'd be trying to find his way back. I thought for a moment. If I lit a fire, that might help him. Night had definitely fallen. A fire would serve as a beacon. All I had to do was gather some wood – there was plenty of that around, fallen branches, after Clark's flying practice (marked by numerous Clark-tree collisions) in the clearing.

Yes! I would make a fire. That was my plan. I had a plan. I wasn't helpless. And yes, I had a lighter in my pack. I dug into the pack, looking for it. I had put it away – we hadn't wanted to have a fire yet. We'd been afraid that it would lead our pursuers to us, and also, we hadn't needed it. Clark's heat vision had served.

I'd just laid my hand on it in triumph when thunder cracked through the clearing. I jumped. We were definitely in for a storm. I hoped that the wind wouldn't blow out the fire when I was trying to get it started….I knew some tricks for that….

Mentally planning my beacon, I squirmed toward the tent flap. And stopped as I heard something I hadn't heard in three years.

Rain.

Raindrops pattered to the ground, slowly at first, then growing to a full thunderstorm. I gaped like a fool. There hadn't been rain for years. All precipitation had been snow. Or hail. Or ice. For the past thirty months, Earth's climate had been that of an ice planet.

Except, now, it wasn't. I found myself crying, the tears running down my face a counterpoint to the rain running over the tent.

_She did it. She did it. _That Kryptonian girl, Kara, at the Fortress of Solitude, had indeed reversed the climate changes that Zod and Brainiac had created. She'd died, but before she'd died, she'd fixed the Earth.

Clark had told me this, several times, but I hadn't believed him. It was just another Kryptonian lie, I'd thought. But he was right. It had taken time for the Earth to freeze. And it took time for the Earth to thaw. But it had. And the rain was a signal. Our planet was going to come back. I smiled crazily through my tears.

I listened to the rain for a long time. The snow hadn't made that sound, nor the infrequent ice storms. No, this was honest-to-God rainfall. The initial fury dwindled back to a steady downpour.

Oh, wait. Darn it. I was going to light a fire for Clark. There was no way I could do that now. If he was lost…..

At that very moment, I heard his voice. "Martha?"

I sighed in relief. He was back.

"Martha? Are you OK?" He squatted down to face me at the tent entrance.

"I'm OK," I said quietly. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

I considered him a moment. "You look very tired," I said neutrally.

He sighed. "I'm sorry to have left you for so long, Martha. I got lost."

I had to smile at the fulfillment of my hypothesis. It was what I'd thought.

"I got up above the cloud layer, flew around a little," Clark said quickly. "I've been all over the country…"

"You couldn't just focus in on me or something?" I asked, curious.

"Needs work," he said sheepishly.

There was a momentary silence. The rain dripped down his body, plastering his hair to his head. His clothes were soaked.

"Are you ready – "

"Can you wait till tomorrow morning – "

We spoke at the same time. We both stopped speaking at the same time. I gestured. "You go first."

Clark made the same gesture back. "No, you."

I inhaled. "Can we go back to Metropolis base tonight?"

Clark sighed. "I think it would be too dangerous," he said slowly. "Not that I wouldn't like to get you to safety – " his glance around took in our surroundings. Not exactly the height of civilization. "But it's dark, I don't know the way, we're both tired." At my raised eyebrows – when had being tired stopped me from doing something that needed doing before – he quickly added, "And there's a lot of lightning. I don't really want to carry you in the sky when there's lightning. I mean, I'd be OK, but you…"

I nodded reluctantly. I had to agree with his call, frustrating though it was. Changing the subject, I asked, "How was your trip?"

Clark stayed concerned and thoughtful for a minute. Then his face broke into a wide smile. "It was great." He sat down in the mud, staying just outside the tent opening. I let out an inarticulate sound of protest and he stopped my comments with a knowing lift of his eyebrows. _I don't feel the cold anyway. _

"I flew back and forth, practiced the speed. I wish the clouds weren't there – I couldn't judge myself against geographical landmarks," he started. "I think I was going pretty fast. And then I went up – " his face smoothed in awed wonder. "I was high enough that I could see the Earth's curvature – you know, if you've been on a jet. But I was higher than that."

"It must be nice," I said wistfully. Clark sounded so enthused, so happy. And to fly….

"I'll take you up tomorrow," he promised. "You can see it."

A thought struck me. "Don't forget I need oxygen."

"Oh." This obviously _had_ slipped Clark's mind. He quickly changed the subject. "I got into the sunlight." He sounded very happy now. "I'm all, um, charged up."

"But you said you were tired."

He frowned. "Different things. I mean, I'm OK to do the, um, Kryptonian things, um, like flying and speeding and all that. But today with the practicing and everything, um, the mental and physical strain, um, I could use some sleep."

I looked around the dark clearing. Rain falling, Clark back, my worries eased. Nothing to do. No light to read. No food to cook or eat. "It's time for me to go to bed too."

And that brought up the inevitable corollary. I had to go to the bathroom.

I sighed and checked around. No, I hadn't somehow acquired a rain slicker. In fact, I hadn't brought any rain gear at all. Why should I have, when Earth hadn't had rain for three years? Snow, yes, but not rain. Now I was faced with the walk to the outhouse through a pouring rain – not the thunderstorm with the driving, pounding rain, but a steady soaking – and I didn't have anything to protect my clothing from the wet. I would wear the boots, yes. They'd be OK. But if I wore the parka it was going to get wet. It was somewhat water resistant – but not enough, I judged, checking the steady rain.

I sighed and made my decision. "Don't look," I commanded Clark. I began taking off my outerwear and putting on my sleepwear. Clark hastened away as soon as he saw what I was doing.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I crawled out of the tent, dressed in my incredibly fashionable sleepwear (which doubled as a layer of clothing on the exceptionally cold days.) I carried the mini-flashlight in one hand. "Where's your coat?"

"Clark," I said, "it's wet. I don't have rain gear. I have to go to the bathroom." I began walking.

He actually blushed.

"I figure that I'll get only this wet. Everything else will be dry for tomorrow."

"You'll get cold," he protested. He was following me.

I already was. The rain hadn't taken long to penetrate the thin layer. "So I get cold then. I can warm up in the tent."

His eyes darted back and forth between the tent and the woods where the outhouse stood. "Um….can I escort you?"

"I can go to the bathroom on my own. I'm a big girl now," I said sarcastically.

He blushed again. "No, I mean, um, carry you there, um, at speed, so less time for you to get wet."

I actually stopped for a minute to consider it. Avoid tramping through rapidly-deepening mud? Through the forest, in the dark, where I wasn't exactly sure where the outhouse was, although I had a pretty good idea? Spend less time in the rain?

"Sure."

"Um…I'll just…. Clark wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me slightly. There was the usual disconcerting blur of moving too fast for my eyes to follow. He let go of me. "Here we are."

"Thanks."

I stepped in. The outhouse had only conifer boughs for a roof. It leaked. Thank God I'd put the roll of toilet paper underneath the bench seat so it hadn't been ruined by the downpour.

It was still darn cold when I sat down, though.

I came out, saw Clark carefully facing away, silently reassuring me that he'd respected my privacy. "I'm out," I announced unnecessarily.

"Ready?" I nodded and he again picked me up and sped me back to the tent. He set me down at the entrance and I gratefully crawled in, avoiding my sleeping bag. I pulled out my towel and dried off as best I could. The flashlight lay propped up in the folds of the sleeping bag, spreading its weak glow throughout the tent.

The rain switched from its steady dripping to another downpour. I peeked out the tent flap. Clark stood in the rain, water dripping down his face. He had an air of dumb suffering. He knew how I felt about him. He would stay outside tonight, I knew, like he'd stayed outside last night.

_Last night it wasn't raining, _my inner voice told me. My conscience squirmed. If I was the other Martha, what would I do?

"Clark?"

"Yes, Martha?"

"Come in the tent." I couldn't believe I'd said that. It was seeing him out there, soaking wet, standing guard, that made me say it. I knew how miserable I would be out there in the rain. Maybe he didn't feel the cold, but I bet he felt the misery of water on the face and wet clothing as much as any human.

"I'm OK, Martha." Surprise in his voice.

"Clark! You're soaking wet."

"It's OK."

"Clark, come in the tent." Now I was getting annoyed. "I thought we agreed that I would give the orders on this trip."

I could actually hear the smile in his voice. "Uh…yes." Humoring me.

"Then I don't want to see my partner soaking wet and having to sit in the mud."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Don't lie to me."

He sighed and I heard him weaken. "My clothes are all wet. And muddy. I'll get the tent wet and muddy." True. He figured he had the trump card there, did he?

"Then take off your clothes."

Absolute silence. He obviously couldn't believe I'd said that, and when I thought about it again, I couldn't believe it either.

Whoops. Time to re-group. "I mean, leave your clothes outside – let the rain rinse them out. Strip down to your – " what to say? My mind reached frantically for a word. " – skivvies – " Whew! That wasn't too bad, was it? " – and you can wrap yourself in the thermal blanket." I was almost babbling now. "You know your clothes need washing." _No way _was I suggesting anything romantic. Or sexual. Absolutely no way. And I was counting heavily on Clark still thinking of me as his mother's counterpart. I felt _almost _certain that he would shy away from uncomfortable connotations too.

"There's not enough room in the tent." He dropped the subject of clothing removal like a hot potato, tacitly conceding the point. The room-in-the-tent topic was him making a new protest, trying to dissuade me. But I could definitely hear the longing in his voice now. He was weakening. He wanted to be out of the rain, too.

I looked around. Actually, there really _wasn't _enough room in the tent. Nominally a two-man tent, the space not occupied by my sleeping bag was taken up by the pack (a large item) and my boots near the door. Usually I tried to keep my boots outside the tent, but due to the rain, I'd wanted them in.

Now I was determined. And feeling contrary. I'd had my wishes flouted for years. Now I had this guy, who was supposed to follow my orders, quibbling with me? Besides, I wouldn't be able to sleep, if I was warm and comfortable in the tent and I knew he was out there in the rain.

I scrabbled in the tent covering which was still strapped to the backpack. Yes! Still there! I pulled out the piece. "No problem, Clark," I said sweetly. "Just put up this annex."

The tent, when I liberated it from the outdoor-goods store, had been a good-quality one with a two-man compartment that zipped closed in two layers – a thin screen, and a thicker all-weather cover. It also had an "annex", a small part that fit over the entrance, and served as a cover for packs, etc., so gear could be set outside the tent but still protected from the weather. I'd used it a few times, so I still carried it.

Clark sighed and I heard him give in. He must have been more miserable than I thought. Or maybe he _was_ just humoring me. "OK."

I didn't rub it in. "Here's the annex." I passed him the extra tent piece as he squatted again at the tent entrance.

"How does this work?" I heard him mumbling, and then, in one of those stupefying moments I'd somehow become accustomed to, it was attached. He'd used the speed again, obviously.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked one more time.

"Yes. I don't want you out in the rain. I have to fly with you tomorrow." I said it firmly, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. What had I done? I must have been crazy.

I saw Clark peer in through the tent entrance. "Um, where's the thermal blanket?" he asked. I pulled it out of the pack where I'd carefully folded it. I always left my pack ready to go at a moment's notice. Leaving the tent up had been a luxury, actually. I usually tried to be ready to run at a moment's notice.

"I don't have another air mattress or sleeping bag…" I said.

"That's OK." Dry humor in his voice. "Martha, if you'll move to your sleeping bag…" He sounded very hesitant. This must be as awkward for him as it was for me. Wordlessly, I moved over.

"You _are_ OK with this, right?" Clark asked again. He sounded very nervous.

"I said I was," I snapped. I was nervous too.

He took a deep breath. "All right, then."

I was looking down, at the pack, avoiding Clark's gaze. The pack vanished and a blanket-wrapped Kryptonian took its place. I flinched and automatically looked toward the entrance. In the annex, on a layer of pine boughs, sat the pack and two pairs of boots.

I could barely stand to look at Clark. Unfortunately, he was hard to avoid in the tiny confines of the tent. He was _big. _I'd gotten used to seeing him in the outdoors, where he fit in well with the broad landscapes of Kansas and Colorado. Here, in the tiny enclosure, he took up most of the space.

He hunched himself down awkwardly, trying not to touch me. The heat radiated off him like a furnace. It was unavoidable. Our arms brushed.

"You're wet – I mean, your clothes are wet," Clark blurted out.

_Darn it. _I had meant to change into dry clothes before going to sleep, but seeing Clark out in the rain had distracted me. Changing was right out, now.

"Yes," I said shortly, scooting over to the end of my sleeping bag and grabbing the towel. I dried myself as best possible, which wasn't much. My top clung to me clammily.

Clark had carefully fixed his eyes on my sleeping bag. I saw him focus on the damp patch where I'd been sitting.

"I can dry your sleeping bag," he offered hesitantly. He didn't meet my eyes.

I froze. _I'm not going to be afraid of you anymore. _Inhaling deeply, I said, "That would be appreciated." Then I saw how near I was sitting to the patch and scrambled to be next to Clark. What if his aim was off?

Once I'd gotten off my sleeping bag entirely I saw how the dampness had spread. Everywhere I'd sat, or leaned over, was moist. My frozen expression gave no clue of the underlying whirlwind of thoughts. I knew how dangerous it was to be wet out here in the cold, even out of the wind in a tent. Hypothermia was a killer. Despite my queasiness, I knew I was lucky to have Clark here to dry things.

I sat next to him, our shoulders touching – or more accurately, my shoulder touching his mid-torso. I was a lot shorter than he was. Even with the blanket covering him from armpits to knees, I could feel the heat coming off him.

I looked at him from the side. His eyes grew red again. I shuddered. Despite my brave thoughts, the heat vision still gave me the willies. Steam rose from the damp patch in my bag. I saw his eyes darting back and forth in their sockets – trying to make sure he dried the whole sleeping bag, I thought. I watched him the entire time. Clark squirmed uncomfortably at my steady gaze but said nothing.

The eerie red light faded from his eyes. "All done," Clark announced. Then he caught sight of the towel. He picked it up, and stared at it for a few seconds. He handed the towel to me. I almost moaned as I felt its blissful warmth.

"Um…thank you." I said it without stumbling.

"You're welcome."

An awkward silence fell. I knew why. My clothes were still rain-damp, if not rain-wet. If I went back to my sleeping bag, I'd get it wet again.

I waited for Clark to make the obvious offer, that he would dry me. He didn't make it. The awkward silence extended itself. We were pressed together on his side of the tent, touching, and yet we were afraid to speak to each other.

I knew why Clark didn't say anything. He'd seen how I reacted to the heat vision and he wasn't going to make me uncomfortable by offering to use it on me. I considered my options. Go to bed soaked, or ask Clark. Ask a Kryptonian to use a power that had been a weapon of mass destruction. He had the ability to vaporize me where I stood. I'd seen it happen.

On the other hand, this was Clark. And in the last seventy-two hours I'd trusted him with many things. And so far he hadn't betrayed me. In fact, he'd gone through more than I would expect anyone to endure. Besides, he'd described himself as my partner, and the travails of the last three days had forced us into closer fellowship than I would have thought possible. And I was damp and miserable….I shivered.

Clark cleared his throat. "You have a dry outfit in your pack?"

"Yes," I blurted out, surprised.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. The tiny amount of illumination from the mini-flashlight at the end of the tent cast bizarre shadows, making his expression hard to read.

"I'll step out for a minute and you can change into some dry clothing."

Just then thunder rumbled again and the steady patter turned into a hammering downpour. Instinctively, we both edged away from the sides of the tent.

"At least my clothes are getting a good wash," Clark muttered.

I felt ashamed. He was willing to go out into the storm just to make me feel more comfortable. And I was the one who had asked him into the tent in the first place. It wasn't his fault, by doing that, I'd made things hideously awkward between us.

He began fumbling with the blanket. I panicked. Everything mixed together in my head – the shame, the fear, the feeling that I should trust him - and I blurted out, "Don't do that."

Clark turned his head back toward me, genuinely surprised. "What?"

"Um…." I took a deep breath. "You could dry me, right? That way you wouldn't have to go outside in the wet, I mean, you shouldn't have to, and, um, I don't want to go to bed with wet clothes, and you could, um…"

_Please don't hurt me. _I thought it. I didn't want to say it.

"I'd be happy to assist my partner," Clark said solemnly. Was that a tiny smile fighting to get out? Somehow he'd chosen the right tack. He cast one quick look at trembling me, and said gently, "Maybe I should start with your back?"

I couldn't speak. The thought of actually submitting to it….I nodded dumbly. Clark gently put a hand on my shoulder and turned me slightly. I faced the flashlight, feeling the _presence _behind me. My heart began pounding again.

"OK?" His voice was very low now, and he spoke very soothingly. He must have learned to recognize my panic attacks.

I nodded convulsively, and tensed my muscles.

A minute passed. Nothing happened. Another minute passed.

I turned around and snapped, "I don't feel any – " I broke off as I saw Clark's eyes, glowing with that unearthly red again.

He coughed and the weird glow died. "I thought I'd start low-intensity."

"Oh." I turned back around, more flustered than I wanted to admit at the sight of the glowing eyes.

"Um, starting again," Clark announced. He'd figured out that I wanted notice of when the powers were being used.

This time I did feel the heat. It was a light touch, a tinge of warmth in the center of my back, a spot that grew and spread. It didn't burn, it didn't hurt. It was a drawer full of socks, just from the dryer. It was hot cocoa after a day sledding in the snow. It was blissful.

"Can you kneel?" Clark asked quietly. "I can get the back of your legs."

I urged myself up – the warming had relaxed me. However Clark was doing it, there was no diminution of the warmth on my back when he began to dry my sleep trousers. I spared a minute to wonder – how could he focus it? Of course, the fact that he could do it at all was amazing – maybe I shouldn't worry about the fine details.

"Other side?" Clark asked encouragingly. I felt much less nervous now. The cold was an enemy no less than the rogue Kryptonians, and it never let up. To have help fighting it off, to not have to shiver, not have to bundle up and still lie in a fetal position, curled up to retain heat….it was marvelous.

I reached for the flashlight and turned it off. Even though the warmth was great, I didn't want to see the heat vision that caused it. Clark said nothing as I slowly squirmed around, going from kneeling with my legs behind me to sitting with my legs in front of me. That also put more distance between us, as much as possible in the tiny tent.

I saw his eyes take on their red glow and closed my own eyes. No light leaked through my eyelids, and I heard nothing except my own breathing and the rain pouring down. The tent interior was warm and humid with the evaporation of moisture from my clothing, a welcome change from the usual cold dryness of the outdoors. I smelled myself, the nervous sweat I'd perspired in the last few hours. And I smelled Clark, a unique odor of rain and sweat and male.

The warmth swept over me like a wave and I almost moaned with the sheer pleasure of not being cold. I turned my head and lifted my hair, and Clark obligingly dried it too. I ran my hands through it, despairing at its tangles. There was a whoosh and a break in the warmth, then Clark pressed my hairbrush into my hand, knowing what I wanted without asking. I brushed out my hair slowly as the heat continued. When I was done, I handed the brush back to Clark without saying a word. I heard another whoosh and assumed he'd put it back into the pack. Certainly the flash of cold air I'd felt must have been the tent being unzipped and opened at speed.

It didn't matter as Clark continued to bathe me in warmth. I leaned back, arms behind me, stretching in the unaccustomed luxury. I heard my sleeping bag being unzipped and the warmth stopped. I opened my eyes.

The red eyes floated in the darkness. They _did _glow in the dark. They weren't facing me directly right now. They turned toward me and I suppressed a gasp. They were so eerie. The red glow blinked out.

"I've warmed your sleeping bag," Clark said quietly.

I nodded. In the dark, I scrambled over to my side of the tent, falling onto my sleeping bag. I wiggled around and found the zipper edges. The bag was warm. It felt good to be in a warm sleep sack on top of an air mattress – I'd missed the padding of the latter when I'd been on Clark's side of the tent, especially when I knelt. I closed my eyes.

A wave of warmth ran down the sleeping bag and I opened my eyes again, to see the red glowing counterparts of my Kryptonian tentmate. I closed my eyes again and reveled in the heat.

"Good night, Clark," I said.

"Good night, Martha."

I lay awake. Despite the warming and the careful good-night wishes, I'd had too much rest, not enough exercise, in the past few days. Now I couldn't fall asleep. I turned uneasily in my sleeping bag.

Beside me, Clark lay stiffly. He wasn't sleeping either, I could tell. I wondered what he saw, looking up at the cloth of the tent roof. Did he focus his special vision to look through it? Could he look through the clouds, the constant gray sky, to see the stars, the stars that no one on Earth had seen for three years? I figured, from things I'd heard and from things Clark had said, that he could see very well in low light levels – lighting too dim for humans.

If he looked at me now, what would he see? The dark concealed him from me, but not the other way around. I saw nothing – the tent interior was black. But would he see a tired, middle-aged woman, heartsick, exhausted, and haggard – the woman I was right now? I felt a million years old.

Maybe that's why he stayed on his back, rigidly not looking at me, not turning his head toward me. I sighed. It had taken me a long time to realize that some of his apparent standoffish-ness was, in reality, a way to tell me – without words - that he wasn't using his abilities on me. The actions Clark took – or didn't take – were subtle. Like this one. Not looking at me was his only way to give me privacy within the crowded confines of our tent. It was a silent promise – I could look if I wanted to but I respect you enough not to want to.

And, now that I thought about it, there were more little things he'd done. He turned his back while I dressed, even if I was in the tent. He always waited for me to advance to him, for me to tell him that I was ready to speed away. Yes, he'd scooped me up a few times without the implied permission, but that was in emergency situations. I couldn't fault him for that. And he knew I carried kryptonite, the one thing that could incapacitate or even kill him. And he did nothing about it.

"Clark?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me about the other Martha."

A long silence. Did he wonder why I wanted to know, now, when for so long I'd denied, fought off the knowledge that she was his mother in that other world?

"Well….she makes the best apple pies…."


	12. Chapter 12

Persistent rainfall greeted me when I woke. Clark lay next to me, breathing evenly. The tent interior was warm and toasty. I didn't move – I just watched him.

He had turned on his side so that he faced me. The lines in his face had relaxed and I realized how much younger he looked. I wasn't the only one to have aged under all the stress. The blanket had been thrown off during the night, and had worked itself down to cover my feet and legs. He wore only boxer shorts. I raised my eyes at the perfection of his form. Even if he didn't have superpowers, he would be a strong man. Every muscle was well-developed. He was actually quite handsome.

I felt an obscure sense of shame in checking him out. He was my son in the other world. Queasy memories of Greek plays – specifically the ones about Oedipus – skittered through my brain. I reached down to get the thermal blanket and tossed it over him.

Clark woke up with a thump – literally. He dropped an inch or so to the ground. My jaw dropped as I realized he had his own air mattress – he'd been floating. I hadn't needed to feel guilty about him sleeping on the rocky ground at all. We stared into each other's eyes for a long awkward moment.

Clark looked away, saw his state of undress, and blushed. Then, with one of those blurring moments that still freaked me out, he was wrapped in the blanket again.

"Um….good morning," he said cautiously. He sat up. Again, he was _big. _

I sat up too. "Good morning," I replied neutrally.

Clark's eyes skittered around the tent like a trapped animal. "Um….."

I pointed to the top of the tent. The raindrops could be heard bouncing off it. "We need a plan here."

A short time later I brushed my hair and wished for coffee. We'd settled on a plan. Clark had dried off the outhouse interior, and warmed it for me, as much as possible. He'd also made hot water available to me once again.

While I performed my morning ablutions, he retrieved his rain-washed clothing (I'd seen shirt and jeans hung up on an impromptu clothesline – the rope from my pack) and dried it in the tent. Then he'd dressed, waited for my call that I was ready, and had packed everything – mattress, sleeping bag, tent annex, and tent – and loaded it onto the pack.

The nice thing was that he had done it in super-speed. He'd dried what he could, he assured me, but the tent would have to be pitched indoors to let it dry out completely. I'd expressed concern that he didn't know the right way to pack, but he informed me, with an apologetic smile, that he'd spent so much time in my pack and with my stuff that he knew how I liked things packed. And besides, he was the one who was going to carry it anyway.

I was forced to agree to his logic. And, as I called to him, I thought it probably didn't matter. Our next step was Metropolis base, where I could re-pack or un-pack at my leisure. And get breakfast. My stomach was definitely rumbling.

There was a whoosh and a blur and Clark appeared at the outhouse entrance where I waited with the door open. He had the pack on one shoulder. Once again I wanted to go over there and straighten the pack so he carried it properly.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Where's your jacket and parka?" I was confused. He'd had them last night when he went on his flying trials.

Clark looked extremely abashed. "I lost them," he muttered.

"What? I can't hear you."

"I lost them."

"How? Did you take them off and forget them? _Mislay _them somewhere?" I asked sarcastically.

"They burned up."

"What?" This wasn't what I had expected.

"They burned up. I was flying too fast and the friction got them, OK?"

I involuntarily took a step backward. "_What?_ And you want me to fly with you?"

He sighed. "That's why I didn't want to tell you."

"I guess not!" Inwardly I cringed. Was this on purpose? Now, I didn't think so – Clark had been consistent in living up to his promise to keep me safe. Or were the Kryptonian powers glitching again? Small comfort, when it involved me and "burning up" in the same sentence.

"Martha – " Clark said soothingly.

"Don't 'Martha' me."

"All right!" he said fiercely. "All right! Just let me explain. You'll be OK, I swear."

"Like your parka?"

He sighed again. "That was because I was going too – going so fast. You know my aura, right?"

I nodded despite myself, remembering his invulnerability.

"I found out, when I'm really going fast, it thins down. When I'm fastest, it extends only a few millimeters from my body. That's when air friction burned off….um….if I fly slower, I can extend the aura to whomever I'm carrying – you." He smiled encouragingly. "You'll be fine."

I stared blankly for a minute, processing this information. Not very reassuring.

Then, once again, necessity reared its ugly head. What else was I going to do? As I told myself for the fiftieth time, I was stuck here without him.

"All right," I said grudgingly, moving to the pick-up position and wincing at the raindrops, "but you'd better be careful."

He scooped me up – a very familiar gesture by now. "I promise, I will be."

And then he lifted off.

We left the ground slowly, smoothly. Before I knew it, we were fifteen feet up. I looked down, gave a little squeak (despite my firm resolve to keep quiet) and clung tighter to Clark's neck.

"Don't worry," he said. Was that _amusement _in his voice? I was going to kill him. "I've got you." He held me in his arms, reassuringly firm.

I felt like blurting out, "You've got me? Who's got you?" in my panic. But I restrained myself in time. I wasn't going to _say_ how scared I was. Of course, Clark already knew. But he didn't say anything more, letting me keep my dignity.

We were above treetop level now. I could see our old clearing, recognizable by the trampled ground, fallen tree branches, and a lonely one-seat pine-bough-roofed outhouse.

Drops of rain pattered off me, and I turned my face irritably. If Clark's "aura" was supposed to keep the rain off me, it wasn't. My parka was getting wet, too, not just my face and hands.

I choked back recriminations. I'd only been in the air for thirty seconds and already I was a back-seat driver. Or a back-seat flyer. Or whatever. But Clark probably wouldn't appreciate any barbed commentary. We were floating slowly over the forest.

We were well above the treetops now. I looked down – the storm had knocked over many trees. Clark followed my gaze.

"A lot of trees died in the, um, long winter," he said, worried. "There's going to be tree falls everywhere – in the forest, on the roads… And there's going to be lots of erosion, too. I hope the root systems are enough to keep the topsoil on."

Of course. I hadn't had to think that way since I moved off the farm, and frankly never had. That was always Jonathan's job. Tears rose to my eyes, to mix with the raindrops falling. Our marriage had ended in divorce, in a haze of arguments and guilt and recriminations over our childlessness. But somehow, right now, I remembered the early days, when we were so hopeful. I would make the home, and he would work the farm, and we'd have a passel of kids to help with it and to pass it on to…..

I swallowed. It was time to think about something else. The swallow started my stomach rumbling. It was always appropriate to think about food. And that would take my mind off my current situation. If anything could. Frankly, I'd rather be sitting in first class on an airplane, sipping my drink while eating airline food. Even airline food would be good right now. Unfortunately, no food was in the offing.

We kept on flying. We both got wetter. I shivered.

It caught Clark's attention and he looked down at me. "You're cold."

I nodded. It seemed evident.

He dropped to the ground, so quickly my stomach stayed hovering. In seconds, we had touched down. He let go of me and I stumbled backward. Clark set down the pack, and with one of those disconcerting blurring motions, the thermal blanket was out and the pack was on his back again.

"Let's get you warmed up," Clark said. "OK with the heat vision?"

That sounded like a great idea right now. My coat was soaked and I shivered uncontrollably, now that I was separated from Clark's body heat.

I nodded again, and this time I managed not to avert my gaze at the sight of his eyes glowing red. The sweeping warmth enfolded me and I couldn't help moaning. Steam billowed off my parka. It was a race between the steady rain and Clark's heat vision, and right now, Clark was ahead. I took off my hat, and without asking, Clark angled his gaze to dry my hair.

"All set?" he asked as I put my hat back on. He looked a little worried. "I'd like to get some food in you, but…."

I shrugged.

Clark shook out the thermal blanket and warmed it with a blast of heat vision. He draped it around my shoulders, held it for me as I wrapped myself in it. It might help to keep off the rain.

"OK?" he asked.

"OK." He scooped me up and lifted off.

The thought of food reminded me of something. I relaxed my grip on Clark's neck just a little. "Clark?"

"Yes?" A calm voice, as if we weren't flying fifty feet above the ground in a pouring rain.

"Did you get your backpack?"

He looked chagrined. "You know, Martha, I forgot all about that yesterday." He shrugged. "Let's head there right now." He made a wide curve.

As Clark flew, I got an impression of the distance he'd traveled during our escape. He'd deliberately downplayed his actions. But he'd suffered torture, healed himself, saved me, run away from our captors, and had his flying ability kick-started. And, after I was unconscious, he must have carried me for miles. Because, unless we were flying in circles, it was a heck of a long way back to the school where we'd left his backpack. And we weren't flying in circles.

But before I knew it, I could see the school off in the distance below us. "Scout ahead," I ordered Clark. Oh well. So much for not being a backseat driver.

He took us up higher. Now we hovered directly over the school, just below the thick part of the cloud cover. I could barely see the school and its grounds. Clark, I knew, could see much more.

"What's the situation?" I clipped out.

Clark sighed. "The backpack is still there, right where we left it."

"Can you swoop down and grab it?"

His voice was very dry. "Only if I want to get shot by the rifleman in the tree stand. Looks like Hernandez."

I inhaled sharply. "Those - !"

Clark nodded. "They must really want to get me," he said. He squinted again. "You know, they even put a chunk of kryptonite in the pack."

I shuddered. A trap.

"It's a good deal for them, I guess," Clark mused. "Low risk, high reward. All it's costing them is some time. Of course, my returning isn't all that likely, but maybe they figure the food is a big enough enticement."

At those words, my stomach growled.

"Back to Metropolis base, then?" Clark asked.

I put aside my anger and indignation. "Home, James," I said pompously, the rich dowager addressing her chauffeur.

Clark chuckled and put on the speed. Straight up.

My stomach dropped out from under me. Fog encased us as Clark zoomed us through the cloud layer. And, before I could say anything, we were through. And I saw something I hadn't seen in three years.

The sun.

Gorgeous, hot and bright, the sunlight bounced off the top of the cloud layer and illuminated the clear blue sky. My eyes widened before I put up a hand to shade them.

"The sun…." I murmured. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it. Sure, it shone weakly through the constant gray clouds. But we hadn't had a sunny day in three years.

Clark held me more loosely, his tense muscles relaxing. The bright sun played on his face and he closed his eyes. "Ah….." he turned, spinning to be sure the beam caught him full on the face.

"Wow….stay here for a few minutes, will you?" I asked.

"No problem." Of course he would stay. I wondered what it felt like, drawing your energy from the sun. Was it a warm bath? Or like lightning under your skin?

We floated wordlessly. I cautiously let go of Clark's neck. After a few minutes, I slid so that he held me only around the waist. He considerately turned us so that the sun wasn't in my eyes.

"What do you think is going to happen?" I asked him suddenly. "You know, with Hank Hall and Hernandez, and the other guys."

By unspoken agreement, we hadn't talked about that episode before. It was too close, too raw. But up here, in the sunshine, high up – the cares of the world were far away.

Clark frowned. "I should ask you that. You know Lex better than I do. What do you think he'll do?"

I volleyed the ball back into his court. "I believe that you know Lex in your world. How would that Lex have reacted?"

Clark was silent for a long time. "Lex….he doesn't like to be defied. And that's how he'll perceive this. He made the effort to send an emissary, one of his most trusted advisors. And, given our reception….."

"I don't think our Lex will be very happy, either." I said it noncommittally, mentally urging Clark to continue his confidences.

"Lex likes power," Clark said quietly. "He's really the de-facto President right now. I can't see him letting these guys defy him. Even if he has to send out a military force."

"We don't have a military force," I protested automatically.

"Do you really believe that?" Clark said sardonically. "What'd you use to take down Zod?"

"Well, you, for one."

"And about five hundred armed and dangerous humans and metahumans! Face it, Martha, everyone that's survived so far is a military force in his or her own right."

I couldn't deny that.

Clark went on. "But, more probably, Lex will work out some maneuver where those guys will be deposed or killed and they'll never know what hit them. It'll be subtle."

"That sounds like Lex," I offered.

"I hope he does," Clark said. "I hope it doesn't come to force. If it comes to some sort of military action, I'm going to be on the other side of the country pulling trees out of harbors."

I must have revealed my incomprehension because Clark sighed and explained. "I won't involve myself in any human-on-human conflict, Martha. The Kryptonian powers… Well, when I made all my promises, that was a logical corollary. You have to settle your disputes yourself." His voice turned hard. "Not that I don't want to see those guys punished for what they tried to do to you."

Clark said nothing about what they'd done to him, I noticed.

"I can't forgive them for that." He stared off into the distance, not meeting my eyes. "I can understand them not wanting to work with a Kryptonian – I mean, it's an obvious phobia, given the situation." He gestured at the cloud cover below. "But violence…attacking you…." he broke off, breathing heavily. "Lex was right to suspect something was wrong. Those guys are no better than thugs. Bandits." A muscle jumped in his jaw, a tic of stress, I presumed.

"Clark," I said, putting my free hand on his arm, "we got out. We're here."

He visibly collected his thoughts. "Yeah. That's the important thing."

"You don't sound very happy."

"You know, Martha, I was just hoping this was all over. The political parties now are the "Kill off the Kryptonian" party and the "No, we can work with him" side. I thought that I'd – that we'd silenced the "Kill Him Off" party." Clark sounded weary and depressed. "And Andrea Rojas hates me, she wants vengeance for what the other Kryptonians did. She's determined to take me down….I don't know how I can ever prove myself. You can't prove a negative. I can say that I mean no harm, but I can't _prove_ it." His impassioned outburst wore down. "Heck, Martha, _you_ feel that way. _You're_ worried about me."

I swallowed. But at the same time I felt curiously free. Something about the sunshine made me light-headed. "Well, since your arm is the only thing keeping me from falling a mile straight down…" I teased. "I should fill the air with protests of your innocence and good intentions." I turned serious. "But do you want the truth?"

Clark met my eyes. "Let there always be the truth between us, Martha." He said it seriously, in the manner of one taking an oath. "You tell me the truth, or as much of it as you can, and I will do the same. Always. And I will never hurt you."

"Deal," I said, reaching for his free hand. He looked bewildered for a minute, and then smiled as I shook his hand firmly.

"You want the truth? The truth is…." I looked away, embarrassed to be speaking freely. Even after all we'd been through, even after his promises, I still worried. "I'm still scared of you, a little bit. I'm still worried about your Kryptonian-ness. I'm still wondering if you're going to take over the world." At his frozen expression, I added, "But after the last three days, I'm a lot less worried than I used to be." I took a deep breath. "You showed me the kind of man you are….and I think I can work on trusting you."

Clark let out a relieved sigh. "That means a lot to me, Martha," he said softly. "We've been through a lot together in the last few days. You're my partner. I can count on you." He grinned impishly. "I have only one question for the future."

"Yes?" I asked apprehensively. Where was Clark going with this?

"Will you do lunch?"

Whatever I'd suspected, that wasn't it. "Lunch?" I repeated inanely.

"Yeah, lunch. I don't want to…lose track of you. I want to keep in contact. So, lunch?"

"That sounds OK," I said weakly.

"On Thursdays, then." A decisive tone.

I mentally riffled through my calendar. Who was I kidding? I didn't have a calendar anymore. "Thursdays are fine." Then my stomach growled. "You shouldn't have said anything about a meal."

Clark chuckled ruefully. He made a motion and I pulled myself back to our flying position. "I assure you I'll get you lunch as soon as possible. Actually, breakfast." I adjusted myself in his arms. He gave me a questioning look and I nodded. What did it mean, that I was so comfortable with him carrying me that we didn't even have to speak to each other anymore?

He adjusted his grip and dropped down through the cloud layer. "Metropolis base, here we come."


	13. Chapter 13

Clark floated through the cloud layer, mentally wincing at the thought of losing the sun once more. It contrasted with the happy feeling inside. The feeling was due to the fact that Martha hadn't turned him down. The last four days had been tough - awful, in fact – but the consolation was that, hopefully, he'd made a friend, or at least turned an enemy into a neutral.

He gazed down at her fondly. When he looked at Martha Clark, he saw his mother, Martha Kent. Why not, when they were counterparts? But Martha Clark had been at some pains to tell him how much she hated him. And she had voted to kill him. Clark could understand that a lot better now.

She had feared him. When Lex had thrown them together on this half-assed mission, he'd expected her protests. Clark found it interesting that Lex was able to convince this Martha to go ahead anyway. Clark had listened to her protests, her rationalizations, and her venomous comments. He'd needled her back, calling her _Mrs. Kent _and letting her know that he wouldn't be just her mule. Heck, Clark knew that Martha had spent a lot of time talking with Chloe about what it was to work with a Kryptonian.

His mind veered off onto a well-worn tangent. Chloe. He'd spent three months with her, and probably they'd spent half the nights of that time sleeping together in a two-man tent much like Martha's. At first it had been hellish. In his own world, Chloe was his best friend, the woman he now knew he wanted to marry. She was the woman who he'd foolishly overlooked for years, his attention distracted by Lana Lang. It wasn't much of a surprise when he found out that Lana had been a collaborator. Being thrown into an alternate world and forced to defend one's existence tended to make one go over life events very carefully. And Lana Lang hadn't measured up, not like Chloe had.

So, yes, he was stupid. He'd had a friendship with Chloe that could have been so much more. If he had been more alert. If he hadn't been such an idiot.

It was too late now. This Chloe was already married, and to Lex Luthor, of all the people in this universe. That fact was the toughest of all. And, apparently, in this world, they'd worked together for years. Lex had her complete trust, enjoyed Chloe's full confidence. All of her darting intelligence, and her cool courage under fire were on the "Lex Luthor" side of the ledger.

That hurt.

So, spending time in close proximity with this alternate Chloe – knowing what he could have had in his own world, not to mention getting the two women mixed up at times, had been hell.

And then, as time went by, he accepted it. He decided to stop brooding about the errors of the past (_and missing my chance with Chloe was a whopper_, he thought). He went off in the woods one day and just sat there for an hour, putting things at rest, at least in his own mind. When he finally came back and met Chloe for another one of the seemingly-endless search-out-the-survivors mission, he was calm. He could be calm now. This Chloe was not for him. She was a good friend – she'd always been on his side, always had been willing to give him a chance. But there would never be more between them than friendship. Putting hope aside made things easier. If he were back on his own world… No. He couldn't think that way. He was here, on this world, and he had to play the hand that fate dealt him. He would be alone. He had to accept that.

And so, after spending three months with Chloe, he figured that Chloe would have some tales to tell Martha - hopefully not the stories about him falling in the mud puddles. No, he hoped that Chloe would tell Martha about how good a camp partner Clark Kent was, how he did the chores, how he made sure his companion always had hot water or a fire or a warmed sleeping bag, how he saved his partner from miles of trekking by super-speeding her wherever she needed to go. How Clark Kent was perfectly harmless.

So he assumed that Martha knew the drill. She was the diplomat. He was the transporter, bodyguard, and man-of-all-work. She would tell him where she wanted to go and he would take her there. He'd stand behind her at diplomatic events and his looming figure would give her consequence. That was how it worked.

Instead, when Lex had left the two of them alone at the base entrance, it didn't work like that. Clark had moved toward her to pick her up for transport. She'd cowered back and the expression in her eyes hit him like a blow. She was afraid of him. In fact, she wasn't just afraid. She was terrified. Frozen with fear. Petrified.

By now, Clark was well-acquainted with dislike, disgust, and disdain – he got those every time he revealed himself as Kryptonian. There often was some fear. It tended to resolve itself as Clark made himself look harmless. He had developed some tricks of making himself appear smaller, less imposing.

He hadn't met this awful, paralyzing terror before. When he stood, Martha flinched. When he walked toward her, she cringed. Clark could hear her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. She was unable to speak for the fear.

_What happened to you, Mom, to make you like this? _ To see that familiar form cowering hit Clark like a stab through the vitals. The Martha he knew – his mother – always stood straight, even in the face of disaster.

It was at that moment that Clark put aside the needling, the teasing. He wanted to sweep her in his arms, hug her, to fix what was broken. But he couldn't. Coaxing her back, winning her trust just to the extent that she would allow him to touch her now, were his goals.

He'd succeeded in those, and had told himself, as he picked her up, to hold her steady, not too tight, don't try any little flourishes, just keep her safe. As the day went on, he had inward glee at seeing her start to talk with him and best of all, even _argue _with him. When she'd compared him to a pet chimpanzee he didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. He chose the former. At least this Martha was _telling _him that she feared him. He could deal with that.

And then, in the school – the Martha Kent he knew came out. Kryptonite had felled him. He lay there helplessly, about to watch his mother's counterpart be raped, and probably murdered. And then she'd taken down her attacker. It was beautiful. Elegant, even.

Getting him out of the kryptonite handcuffs – he still cringed as he remembered that part. When he'd given Martha the order to chop, to mutilate him so he could get out of the cuffs, he'd had two big worries.

The first was that he wouldn't heal. Yeah, he'd healed before from nearly-fatal wounds, but what if this time he didn't? What if he stayed a cripple? That's why he asked Martha to cut off the ring and pinky fingers. He could live without those, if he had to.

The second fear was that Martha wouldn't chop off the fourth and fifth fingers. In his nightmares, she chopped off his thumbs. Or worse, his hands. It had been harder than she would ever know to hold his hands there, flat, on the desk, waiting for the hatchet to fall.

Clark smiled. Martha had come through there, too. He'd been waiting for "three" and she'd chopped on "two". And not only that, she'd chopped well. One chop per hand was all she took. No dithering. When she did something, she did it thoroughly.

When he had watched his hands heal, tremendous relief had coursed through him. It had lasted until he found out his "solar battery" was depleted. In retrospect, it wasn't a surprise, given the demands placed on his extra-terrestrial abilities. Then the worry had started again. Could he get Martha away, could he keep her safe? His powers were down, he couldn't run fast enough. So he'd gambled and jumped off a cliff, trusting he could survive the fall and protect her.

He'd almost vomited from fear, when, after climbing out of the mini-crater his fall had made, he caught Martha's limp form. He'd had to detach her from her grip on him, throw her up in the air to buy some time for him to crash from his fall, and then come back and catch her before she fell to the ground. How had he damaged her? Was it permanent?

Clark had caught her unconscious body and spent precious moments examining it with his deep vision. He saw a concussion. Cries from above had alerted him to the precariousness of his situation, and he'd scooped her up again and set off, running as rapidly as he could.

Fortunately, he seemed to charge up quickly, even in this diluted sunlight. He found himself able to travel faster the longer he went. He did have to stop and rest frequently, and at every stop Clark checked Martha's injuries again. He became very familiar with the pattern of her blood vessels, the delicate folds of her meninges, the bruising and swelling on her brain tissue. He held his breath, looking each time for bleeding to start between the brain and the skull – a man in Smallville, a friend of Jonathan's, had died once of an undiagnosed subdural hematoma, and Clark, curious, had guiltily scanned the body at the funeral service – but Martha's injuries did not worsen.

He'd managed to find a clearing, set up a camp, and get Martha comfortable. Then he'd crawled into the tent with her – _she needs the warmth_ – and collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

And, after that, things had been better between them. Bad times, shared, created a bond. And Martha had helped him control his flying….

The flying! That was great. The sense of freedom….the aerobatics….the glorious liberty to stretch out, to extend his abilities – all that was fantastic. Already Clark could see how things would be much easier. He had some ideas – there hadn't been any word from Europe, Asia, South America – nothing. Someone should go over there and check things out. And since Clark could fly without fuel (well, without petroleum-based fuel, anyway), he was the logical choice. It wouldn't take him long at all. He remembered his trial flight last night. He actually thought he hadn't gone as fast as he might be able to.

The clothes thing might be tough, though. If his protective aura did thin out and get closer to his body the faster he flew, his clothes would be taking a lot of damage. He'd realized that when his parka and jacket had flaked off his body, turned to ash by air friction. Maybe if he got something skin-tight….a ski suit, maybe? Those downhill racers all wore very aerodynamic garments….spandex or something? Or maybe one of those whole-body swimming suits that had become such a hot topic during the last Olympics?

The other thing Clark had discovered – still very iffy – was what he thought might be a sensitivity to the Earth's magnetic field. When he'd taken off from Martha the first time, he'd zoomed around the world. Then, when he tried to get back to where Martha stayed, waiting, he'd realized: _Hey, I'm lost_. The constant cloud cover didn't help at all. However Zod et al. had arranged it, right now it was a fact that the entire Earth lay wreathed in clouds, clouds that reflected most of the sunlight and made the Earth cooler.

He'd worked his way back to Martha using a combination of flying under the clouds and checking landmarks _(note to self: Pacific Ocean means too far west)_, finally succumbing to the necessity of checking road signs. He'd made his way back to the Pike School, where they'd had their unpleasant incident, and from there he could remember his way.

It was actually Martha's heartbeat that called him for the final mile. Clark hoped she didn't realize how much he listened to it. It had been in his ears every minute since they began working together. And there weren't very many other heartbeats around, human or animal. This earth was depopulated.

But road signs, landmarks, and heartbeats aside, in his constant bobbing up and down, he'd felt twinges. Twinges of being able to sense his latitude, and not feeling right when he was too far north or south. This was definitely something he had to practice. Of course, that would mean more flying.

And of course he had to practice his flying in conjunction with his other powers. Martha had made a good start on that, with the snowballs and the heat vision. But Clark knew that he wasn't reliable, so far. It needed more practice. And of course, that meant more flying.

_Admit it, Clark, _he told himself, _you just want to fly. _A competing voice in his head retorted, _And why not? It's the coolest thing ever. _He smiled.

The tide of reminiscence slowed as they hovered, not too far from Metropolis base. Clark stayed poised in mid-air for a moment, getting his bearings. Things really did look different when seen from above.

There! That was a good place to land, and not far at all from the base entrance. Then motion caught Clark's eye, at the corner of his vision.

A man trudged through the rain, wrapped in a large overcoat, head covered by an ancient fedora. Clark was surprised. There were few travelers on the roads anymore, and even fewer went alone. Travel had become arduous and expensive, and dangerous as well. Clark focused on the walker and his eyes widened.

He dropped, shedding altitude quickly. Martha stirred in his arms. "What is it?"

"There's someone I have to meet." Clark spiraled to a perfect landing six feet from the traveler.

The man lifted his head, ignoring the runnels of rain off his hat brim down his neck. At the sight of the flying Kryptonian, fear crossed the man's face briefly and he looked around, panicked, before taking a deep breath and schooling his features into impassivity.

Clark let go of Martha and she stepped onto the mud. Her eyes met the traveler's, and mutual recognition blossomed.

"Perry White." Her voice held surprise and – was there a note of happiness?

"Martha Clark!" Perry said, incredulous. He looked at Clark, standing a pace behind Martha. "I guess the rumors are true."

Clark remained silent and Martha's raised eyebrow urged Perry White to continue.

"I'd heard scuttlebutt that you had….that a Kryptonian was working with you." His eyes flickered back to Clark. Doubt filled his voice as he said, "Or is this some sort of, uh, alien abduction?"

Clark couldn't help bursting out laughing at that. In fact, meeting this world's Perry White had lifted his spirits immensely. "Hardly," he said. "In fact, she tells _me _where to go."

Even Martha smiled at that. As Clark stepped forward, hand extended, she fell back on her etiquette. Clark stifled a grin as he saw how Martha handled the unusual situation – soaking rain, her person wrapped in a drenched blanket, descending from the skies in the company of a known extra-terrestrial.

"I should make you gentlemen known to each other," she began. "Cl – Kal-El, this is Perry White. Perry, meet Kal-El. Of Krypton."

Perry stared at Clark's hand for a long moment before he finally took it. Clark was careful with his grip. "I prefer to be called Clark. Clark Kent."

Perry's eyes widened and he glanced at Martha momentarily. _He must know that once she was Martha Kent, _Clark thought.

"Long story," Martha said, obviously taking in Perry's confusion. "But Perry, it's been some time now – "

"Four years, three months," Perry broke in. "Back when you were the hotshot lawyer and deal-maker extraordinaire."

"And back when you were the annoying reporter who almost blew the deal," Martha chided him, falling back into easy reminiscence. "I didn't know you were still – "

"Alive?" Perry said sardonically. Then he turned serious. "And I didn't know the same about you. It's good to see you, Martha." He looked again at Clark, who had stepped back to stand behind Martha's shoulder. "You're keeping some, um, _unusual _company these days."

His tone was light, but Clark heard the racing heart and quick breathing underneath. Perry's confident attitude and jaunty demeanor concealed what Clark had learned was the common response to his Kryptonian powers – fear. He decided to speak up.

"Yes, she is, Mr. White." Perry raised his eyebrows again at the courtesy. "It's a long story," Clark went on, "but what you have to know is that I'm on your side."

Perry studied Clark for another long minute. There was an awkward silence. Clark could not read the expressions behind the stone face.

"So, Perry, what are you doing out here in the rain?" Martha asked desperately.

"Meet the new editor-in-chief of the _Daily Planet,_" Perry said, jerked out of his Clark contemplation. "The finest newspaper in the world."

_The only newspaper in the world, _Clark thought, again with bitterness towards Zod and Brainiac, who had destroyed so much.

"Meet also the chief reporter of the _Daily Planet,_" Perry went on, "who heard rumors and who took time out of his day to investigate." He laughed. It sounded impossibly light and free to Clark. "I didn't expect the story to drop out of the sky in front of me."

The rain picked up, turning from a steady soaking into a downpour. Martha shivered. "Did you walk here all the way from the _Planet _building?"

"My vehicle was just nationalized. By Lex Luthor," Perry said bitterly.

Clark's heart sank. _I guess that will teach nosy reporters not to come and bother him._ That was the way Lex acted. Clark had thought this Lex was different than the one in his own world, that the challenge of rebuilding a destroyed civilization was enough for Lex. It was apparently foolish of him to think that. Lex was Lex, underneath. He didn't want scrutiny.

"So I'm headed back to Metropolis. Up to now, I was without the story." Perry stared at Clark avidly. "At least I've got something to write about now." From the tone of his voice, it was as good as Christmas.

The rain drummed down even harder, and Clark noted Martha's pale color with dismay. He needed to get her under shelter.

"Mr. White, this is no place to talk. Can I offer you a ride back to the _Planet_?"

Perry goggled at Clark. "A ride?"

"Yes." Clark sighed. "I'll take you back to downtown Metropolis." He heard Perry's heart, which had slowly calmed, leap into frightened haste again. Perry had obviously figured out that _a ride_ meant aerial transport.

Perry's eyes flicked to Martha again. She understood his unspoken question.

"I've flown with Clark and I'm still OK." She didn't say how many times she'd flown, Clark noted dryly. Nor did she mention their disastrous first flight together.

Perry looked around at his surroundings and then met Clark's eyes with a curious mix of anticipation and fear. "Do I have a choice?"

"Sure." Clark held the exasperation out of his voice with an effort. He might not feel the cold, but he didn't like getting rained on, either. "You can ride with me and Martha, or you can walk miles through the pouring rain and miss the exclusive interview."

"The interview?" Perry leapt on that like a shark on chum. "You'll talk to me?" It was almost Pavlovian, how the thought of a great story chased away any other concerns.

"Exclusive." Clark dangled that in front of Perry White. He knew what a draw that would be. He'd met his own world's version of Perry – even drunk, the man had sought a story with an obsessive tenacity that merited Chloe's dubbing him "The Bulldog". Apparently Perry's lust for news was trans-universal. "But we have to leave now."

Perry took one last look around the desolate, muddy landscape, the leafless trees adding to the general air of gloom. He stared at Martha, and, out of the corner of his eye, Clark caught his mother's counterpart winking at Perry. That seemed to tip the balance, because Perry stepped closer to Clark and said, "OK."

"OK?"

"OK."

Clark was impressed. It had taken Martha almost an hour to get to this point, back when they'd started out. He noticed the signs of fear again – the dilated pupils, the quick breathing – but politely ignored them.

"OK, Martha knows the drill, but I'll have to hold you around the waist," Clark began, stepping up to Perry and suiting the action to the words. Perry stayed very still.

Martha had already positioned herself on the other side of Clark, and Clark was easily able to scoop her in.

"Then we lift off." And just like that, he did.

Perry's heart rate skyrocketed alarmingly, and for a moment Clark feared the other man would have some sort of cardiac event. Then he saw the Bulldog's natural curiosity come to the fore, and Perry began looking down at the landscape below. An errant gust of wind tipped up the fedora, and Perry rescued it just in time before it blew away.

"Do you need directions?" Perry asked.

A reasonable question, Clark thought. "No. I've been there lots of times before." And so he had, in his own world. He'd probably brought lunch to Chloe four days out of five. And then he would pick her up after work on the fifth day and speed her back to Smallville for the weekend.

Perry had an interesting expression on his face. No doubt he was trying to remember how he'd missed an alien visiting his place of work, lots of times. Clark didn't give him time to think about it, the ground passing underneath them at gratifying speed. The burned buildings of Metropolis, the collapsed towers of a destroyed civilization – he sped past those without comment. In less than a minute, Clark landed his passengers a short distance from the street entrance of the _Daily Planet. _The famous globe still rotated atop the roof, the _Planet _building surprisingly intact when so many others lay in ruins.

Perry stumbled back a few steps. Martha didn't. In fact, she stayed wrapped in Clark's arm. When he tried to take it away, she wobbled. As he watched in alarm, she slipped bonelessly out of his grasp in a dead faint.


	14. Chapter 14

Clark grabbed Martha before she hit the ground. Reflexively, he scanned her with his deep vision. Her concussion was no worse, but when he put a hand to Martha's cheek, he was surprised at the chill. "She's fainted," he said, alarmed. "She's too cold." He turned to Perry and asked urgently, "Do you have any hot tea? Something hot? And something to eat?"

"Follow me." Perry said decisively. He strode to the _Planet _entrance, and held the door open for Clark, who carried Martha.

Clark looked around at the Art Deco-inspired architecture and decoration of the lobby. A fortress-like desk marred the symmetry of the room, with two hulking men seated behind it. Clark, hands full with Martha, X-rayed the area. The desk concealed three shotguns and several handguns; the men were also heavily armed. _But I don't see any kryptonite. _

One of the men rose at their entrance, but Perry waved him down. "It's all right, Keith," Perry said. "They're with me."

"Do you need some help?" the burly man asked.

"No, we're fine." With those terse words, Perry led Clark past the desk, toward the elevators. Clark nodded courteously at the two men, and they nodded back, obviously memorizing his face.

Perry pressed the button for the elevator. It lit up, and Clark belatedly noticed the obvious. "You've got power."

"And heat. And running water."

"How'd you do that?" Clark was curious. He hadn't seen smoke consistent with a coal furnace, and he knew that there was little to no electrical power generation. Besides, transmission lines had been destroyed.

"A little Kryptonian present," Perry said shortly. The elevator arrived and Perry gestured for Clark to precede him into it. Clark complied, adjusting his grip on Martha slightly.

Perry took pity on Clark's burning curiosity and sighed. "This was the HQ for the collaborators. That robot thing – "

"Brainiac."

Perry looked at Clark curiously. "Yeah. Apparently he felt it was amusing to have the _Planet _print daily news summaries of what was happening." Perry laughed bitterly. "'The newspaper of record for humanity's downfall.' That was Brainiac's motto, apparently. He made sure we put out an edition every day." Perry sighed. "Anyway, he arranged for us to have some sort of crystal gizmo in the basement. God alone knows how it works, but it kept on humming even after Zod….went down. We've got all the power we want. It must have dug some sort of well, because we have water too."

Martha stirred in Clark's arms, distracting him.

"Martha? Are you OK?"

"Clark?" she asked sleepily. "I'm so cold…."

"We're going to get you warm, I promise." Clark didn't like her wavering tone. Hypothermia on top of starvation was a dangerous combination.

The elevator bell dinged, announcing their arrival on the top floor. Perry led the way out into the hall and Clark followed him to the publisher's office. Perry opened the door and Clark stared at the large suite, furnished in a style befitting the CEO of the world's largest multi-national media corporation.

"Nice," Clark said noncommittally. He set Martha down on a leather chaise lounge. "You got anything for her to eat?"

Perry was already heading for a small kitchenette. "I've got tea….here's some soup….just have to heat it up."

Clark looked worriedly at Martha. It frightened him that she was so pale. "Get me the soup stuff. I'll heat it up. You start on the tea." He barely refrained from speeding over to the kitchenette. He did stride over there quickly and almost ripped the soup packet and bowl from Perry's hands.

"The rest of the stuff is right there….oh, I see you found it," Perry said dryly. Clark had thrown open the cupboards and assembled items – faster than a human would have been able to – while water from the faucet filled the bowl. Clark put the bowl on a tray and engaged the heat vision. He poured the contents of the soup packet into the boiling water to steep, and raised his head to see Perry staring at him.

"How about working on the tea?" Clark snapped. Perry flinched, and Clark carried the soup to Martha. Beeps in the background indicated Perry had decided to use the microwave for his tea preparation. Clark set the tray on the coffee table in front of Martha.

"We've got to get you out of that wet coat," Clark said, mentally kicking himself for missing the obvious. "Here, let me help you…." Martha set her mug back on the tray. Clark helped Martha stand, and removed her sodden parka and soaked hat. He looked around and saw a coat closet on the other side of the large suite. Without asking permission, he went over and hung Martha's coat.

Clark frowned when he saw that the rain had soaked through and Martha's blouse and pants were wet as well. He almost engaged his heat vision again. He remembered his promise.

"Dry you off?" he asked in a low voice. Surely Martha knew what he meant.

The microwave dinged and they both unconsciously turned toward it, watching Perry take out a teapot. Martha's eyes didn't leave Perry as he fumbled in a cupboard and produced a mug. Perry chose a sturdy and voluminous coffee mug rather than the delicate –but small – teacups that went with the teapot.

"Yes, please," she murmured to Clark quietly. Perry reached them and set the teapot and the mug on the table, and poured.

"Thank you, Perry." She took one bite of the soup and then set it down next to the mug. She straightened and stared into Clark's eyes. Clark darted his eyes toward Perry, standing next to Martha. The older man said nothing, but his stance and proximity to Martha gave him the appearance of her protector and her champion.

Clark sighed and engaged the heat vision. Steam wisped off Martha's clothing. She stretched and lifted her arms so Clark could dry every part of her soaked blouse. Clark didn't look at Perry. He felt obscurely embarrassed. He felt _alien_….unnatural.

Reinforcing this was Perry's gasp when Clark's eyes turned red. The older man hadn't moved from Martha's side, but Clark picked up on dual elevated heartbeats. Perry's heart beat more rapidly than Martha's, though. It seemed that neither one was as blasé about the heat vision as they tried to appear. Martha, thought Clark, was accepting it more readily than Perry. The fact that Perry's heart pounded so rapidly, the fright-or-flight response, implied that Perry had seen red eyes and heat vision before – and not in a good way.

Clark stopped when Martha's clothing was dry and the awful paleness banished from her face. She took a large swig of tea, and then spooned the soup into her mouth. The movement caught Perry's eye and he leaned over her. Finding her unharmed, he looked back at Clark who returned it with a steady gaze of his own.

"Oh, sit down, you two," Martha said between sips. "You're looming over me. It makes me nervous."

Perry gestured at a leather-upholstered chair sitting at an angle to the couch, to Martha's left. Clark sat, and Perry followed, sitting in a chair opposite Clark.

"Nice trick," Perry said in a neutral tone.

"I've got a lot of them," Clark replied evenly, taking the measure of the man who sat across from him. This Perry wasn't the insightful but sodden drunk Clark had met in his own world. This Perry looked ten years younger, and his clear gaze and authoritative air commanded immediate respect.

Clark felt a curious twinge. The other Perry, back in Clark's own world – could he have been this man? What if he had found and published Clark's secret? Would that one incredible huge story have let that man redeem himself? This Perry seemed so different. Clearly he'd never been a slave to alcohol, a common drunk. And of course, he'd already lived through the biggest story except the Second Coming. This Perry had reported the alien invasion of Earth.

Perry in turn stared at Clark, the two men sizing each other up. Martha coughed and broke their semi-confrontational alpha-male staredown. Clark popped up and went to her.

"Are you all right?" He couldn't help the anxious quiver in his voice.

"I'm fine. A little went down the wrong pipe, that's all."

Clark went back to his seat and caught Perry's face. The stony impassivity had a momentary dissolve into softness, then surprise at Clark's concern. Then Clark saw Perry school his expression back into neutrality.

"I believe you said something about an interview?" the newsman asked. He leaned forward.

Martha interrupted. "'Tell me, O Muse, of the storm-tossed mariner,'" she exclaimed portentously.

Clark stared at her, surprised. She hiccupped.

"You shouldn't have put brandy in the tea," she chided Perry. "It was Courvoisier, wasn't it?" She hiccupped again.

A smile played on Perry's lips. He didn't answer Martha's question. Instead, he said, "_The Aeneid_. 'Midway through the journey of my life, I found myself within a dark wood.'"

_"The Divine Comedy," _Clark said immediately. Martha frowned at him and he had the feeling he'd interrupted a game – a game where he didn't know the rules.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," she said gently, staring at Perry.

_"A Tale of Two Cities." _Perry shrugged and seemed to give up the game. "Martha, what's going on?" He glanced over at Clark. "I heard the rumors, but…." He trailed off, again looking away from her to stare at Clark.

Martha took another – apparently large – gulp of brandy-laced tea. "Meet my new partner, Perry," she said. "He'll tell you the story."

Perry's eyebrows raised. He stared at Martha incredulously for a minute. Then he leaned back in his chair. "Partner?" He cast a measuring look over Clark, who almost squirmed at the force of it. "Martha, you've outdone yourself. This is one story I have to hear." He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket, turned it on, and set it on the coffee table amidst their gathering. He also took out a notebook and pen. His eyes met Clark's.

"Go ahead."

Clark did squirm at this. "Well, um…." He felt trapped. He glanced over at Martha and she hiccupped again. Everyone laughed and suddenly Clark felt able to start.

"You probably won't believe a lot of this," he started hesitantly, "but it's all true."

Perry raised his eyebrows. "Good start, kid," he said admiringly. "You've got me hooked." Somehow, Clark didn't feel offended that Perry White called him _kid. _

Time to go ahead. "OK. Back in 1989 there was a meteor shower."

"I knew that."

"I came down in a spaceship with the meteors."

"How come I didn't hear – never mind, go on."

"I was a baby at the time. The people that found my spaceship – and adopted me – were Jonathan and Martha Kent."

Perry whipped his head back at Martha. She shrugged and nodded. Perry appeared to be holding his mouth shut by sheer force of will.

"They raised me. I thought I was human till I was fifteen." Despite his best efforts, Clark's voice took on a tinge of the melancholy he'd always felt since that day. The day he discovered he was an alien. The day he discovered that he was alone. "By then I was old enough to start, uh, getting my, um, abilities, and over the next few years, uh, I went to high school and tried to cover it up." Clark swallowed. "A lot of people in Smallville had developed strange powers from the meteors, and some of them, um, caused trouble. I stopped most of them."

"Go on," Perry said expressionlessly.

"To make a long story short, Brainiac came into my world. He threatened to go back in time, make it so that I never left Krypton. I was in….well, let's just say I was in a bit of a state at the time." Clark smiled sardonically. "I thought, maybe it would be better if I wasn't here." He took a minute to think of the lives lost because of his secret. "My father, Jor-El – "

"I thought you said your father was Jonathan Kent."

"He was." Clark stated that emphatically. "He was and always will be. Everything I am I owe to him and my mother." He carefully didn't look at Martha as he said this. "Another long story short – I'm referring to an Artificial Intelligence download of the personality and memories of my biological father, Jor-El of Krypton. He's the controlling intelligence of the Fortress of Solitude."

Martha sat up straight. "That's the big crystal place up there in the Arctic?" Her brandy-fueled mellowness completely disappeared. Martha seemed fearful again.

"Yeah," Clark said. "I think there might be something wrong with the AI, because it keeps on doing really strange things." He paused for a moment.

"Things?" Perry prompted.

"Things. Like sending me into this universe. A parallel universe where I never did make it off Krypton. But Brainiac did."

"Brainiac?"

"Brainiac is another Kryptonian Artificial Intelligence – "

"Just how many of these Kryptonian AI's are out there?" Perry demanded.

Clark sighed. "I think those were the only ones." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, Brainiac's programming was to get Zod out of the Phantom Zone – "

"Phantom Zone?" Perry sure had a lot of questions, Clark thought.

"High-tech Kryptonian slammer," Clark said curtly. "Trans-dimensional jail. For the worst baddies in the twenty-eight explored galaxies."

"Oh."

"Brainiac tried to break Zod out in my universe. I stopped him back then. Anyway, for whatever reason, Jor-El sent me to this universe. Here, I never made it to Earth. The Kents never raised me. There was no one to fight off Zod when Brainiac arranged his release. When I got to this….world, I was shocked. I didn't know what had happened."

"I guess you know now," Martha said bitterly.

"Right." Clark wondered if she heard the sadness in his tone. He turned back to Perry, willing the other man to believe him. "I literally stumbled onto Lois – do you know Lois Lane?"

"I've heard of her."

"She figured out I was Kryptonian, captured me – "

Perry's eyebrows rose again at this.

" – and took me to the Resistance. We made a deal. I help them overthrow Zod and use my powers to repair what he did. They let me live." Clark tried hard to keep the bitterness out of that last sentence. "I was on a job with Martha and we were coming back to Metropolis base when we saw you." He leaned forward and picked up a mug of tea. "And that's my story."

"And you're sticking to it?" Perry asked Clark after a long moment of consideration. A tiny smile played on his lips.

Clark smiled back. Somehow, this Perry White had the ability to draw him out, and at the same time make him realize how ridiculous and implausible his story really was. And yet, fantastic as it seemed, his story was true. "Yeah." He gestured. "Ask Martha. She was there for most of it."

Martha looked up from her mug at her name. She'd swung her feet up onto the couch. "What? Oh. Yes, that's the gist of it." She yawned.

Clark rose and went to her. "More tea?" he asked, kneeling by her side. He caught her grimace. "How's your head?"

"Hurts," Martha muttered.

"Can I check it?"

"OK." Martha wasn't nodding now, Clark noticed. He squinted and focused. Her brain was healing, but something about today's excitement – or was it the altitude? - had temporarily worsened the swelling. Clark focused deeper and saw the blood rushing through the area, the cells aggregating at certain spots, trying to heal the injury. He sighed. It needed at least several weeks more healing time.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Clark suggested. Martha was halfway there already. "Just lay there on the couch…."

"We should report to Lex," she protested sleepily.

"We can't do that till your coat is dry," Clark said, praying she wouldn't ask him to dry it with his heat vision. "You need to rest while it's drying."

"OK." Her head must have hurt, because she rubbed it before curling up on the couch – with no protest, Clark noted. As she closed her eyes, Clark warmed her with a gentle sweep of heat vision.

He turned back to find Perry standing, watching him.

"You're different."

"I _am _an alien," Clark said, annoyed. "I thought we'd established that."

"No, I mean you're not like the other Kryptonians."

"You've seen them?"

Perry's face shuttered. "A few times." He visibly changed the subject. "Now, if you don't mind….you've got a lot more to fill in on that exclusive interview you promised me."

Clark almost grinned. He'd used the powers in front of Perry and the newsman, after the first rush of surprise, hadn't blinked. It was so different from the usual awkwardness and ill-concealed fear that accompanied his efforts at Metropolis base. "Well," he said, looking over at Martha, who had almost immediately fallen asleep, "it looks like we're going to be here for a bit." He matched Perry's businesslike tone. "I might as well." He looked back at Martha again. "Do you have a blanket?"

Perry glanced at Martha, curled up, looking tiny on the large leather couch. "I think so." He rummaged in a closet and came out with the requested article. He laid it over Martha, and stared Clark back into his chair.

"Now, I have a lot of questions. You say you came in the 1989 meteor shower?"

* * *

"That's quite a story," Perry said, setting down his notebook and pen. He leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe it either if it hadn't happened to me." Clark smiled enough to take the sting out of the words.

Perry's reply stopped when Martha shifted on the couch. She woke, rubbed her eyes, and sat up. An awkward silence fell.

"Would you like some tea?" Clark broke the silence.

Martha stood, slightly wobbly. "Right after I go."

Perry, correctly interpreting her need, got up and pointed her to the executive washroom. She returned, and Clark quickly prepared tea. He poured for all three.

"So, Clark," Perry said neutrally - during their four-hour talk, Clark and Perry had quickly begun addressing each other by first names - "what are your plans?"

Clark shrugged. "Get Martha back to the base safely. We'll report to the council on our latest mission." He frowned. "I think I need some time off to work on, um, the flying. I'm not sure I have it all under control yet."

"Do you think you and Martha could come for lunch next Thursday?"

It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Clark or Martha. Perry smiled. "Hey, Martha. I don't have any other Metropolis Library Board members around." He gazed at Clark. "And when you bring Martha, I'd like to talk with you, too. One o'clock OK?"

His open smile made it impossible to refuse. "OK."

Perry led them back through the hall and down the elevator. He escorted them through the lobby, past the guards. The rain had diminished into a fine drizzle. "See you next week!" he said cheerfully before he turned and went back into the building.

"He's unique," Clark said.

Martha laughed. "It's Perry White. Somehow you just end up telling him your story and doing what he says."

"I thought that was Lex Luthor," Clark grumbled.

The smile left Martha's face. "Well, yes. But in a different way." They both were silent as Clark began walking away from the _Planet _building. Martha kept step with him automatically.

When they were out of sight of the _Planet _Clark asked, "All set?" - his usual question. Now it had a strange poignancy. Would he fly with Martha again? They'd become friends, of a sort, on this strange trip. Would she remain as comfortable with him as she'd become?

"All set," Martha whispered. She stayed still as he gathered her into his arms and lifted off quietly.


	15. Chapter 15

Clark opened the door to his room and sighed. He hated Metropolis base. It was an old military base, soundproofed and stealthed and lined with lead during the Cold War. Underground. Away from the healing and rejuvenating properties of the sun. Spartan. This room was a good example – small, military, severely functional. Only one entrance. Claustrophobic. The only furniture - a metal desk and chair and a twin bed with a thin mattress. Lavatory and showers down the hall. And totally lacking in privacy.

He entered the room and with one lightning-quick scan checked to see that all the surveillance devices were present. No changes. When he'd first been assigned the room, the bugs were there. It hadn't taken Clark long to pick up on them. They changed the electrical field. Once Clark had realized what he saw, it was easy to detect them.

He'd debated neutralizing them. He could do it easily with a blast of heat vision, or just picking them up and crushing them between his fingers. What stopped him was that he understood why they were there.

At the beginning here he'd been marched back into the room where the council met. The same seven he had made his case to – Lex, Chloe, Martha, Lois, Alicia Baker, Andrea Rojas, and A.C. Curry - sat in the same places. There was no one else in the room. The guard with the kryptonite escorted Clark into the room, and then left. Clark hadn't needed super-hearing to tell that the guard waited outside the door.

"It seems your arguments have prevailed, Kal-El," Lex had said. "We'll accept your deal." By the way that Alicia Baker and Andrea Rojas moved slightly in their seats, Clark had had the feeling that they resented the vote's outcome. Martha had remained stock-still, Lois nervous but resolute, and A.C. sat up straighter. Chloe had smiled at him. Lex had descended from the dais.

"Do you agree? Once more, for the record - you help us. We give you citizenship, and pay you." Lex had smiled slightly. "Although that last might be a little limited for now."

"I agree," Clark said quietly. "And again - I won't hurt anyone. You have my word."

Hold out your hands," Lex had said. Clark did so, wordlessly, and Lex unlocked the handcuffs. Clark stood straight, stretched his arms out and behind him. It felt good to have free movement again. He made no sudden motions. His powers had not returned because Lex stood by him, holding the kryptonite. But Clark was measurably stronger, just from getting the toxic mineral further away; stronger now that it wasn't in such close contact with his body anymore. There had never been enough kryptonite in the cuffs to totally incapacitate him, to leave him lying on the ground, writhing in agony. There had been just enough to remove his abilities and leave him weak. He rubbed at the red, inflamed area around his wrists. The kryptonite had given him the equivalent of a first-degree burn. And that was with a thin layer of metal shielding it from direct skin contact.

The council members had watched him warily, no doubt wondering if he was going to lash out, he thought. If he did, he was stupid, Clark had realized. Lex was right next to him with kryptonite, and the guard certainly had orders to kill him if Clark made carnage in the council room. Did they really think he would attack once his restraints were removed? That had implied some bad things about the other Kryptonians.

Maybe it was a forced bargain, Clark had thought, but it was the best he could hope for. And, after seeing this world, he knew he had a responsibility to make right whatever he could, to use his unique abilities to repair and mend what was broken. He had wondered if the council members might ever come to realize that.

And so, he had held out his hand – his un-cuffed hand, the hand that could bend steel – to Lex Luthor. "You have my word," Clark repeated. Lex had stared at it for a long moment, and then shook it.

"And you have ours," Lex had replied. He had nodded, indicating the council members, the de facto rulers of the nation. Again, Clark had been struck by the expressions on their faces. Even Chloe had looked nervous. Unleashing the Kryptonian – was it the last and worst mistake they'd ever make?

Clark had been glad when they hadn't made any effort to have him shake every council member's hand. He had a feeling it wouldn't have gone well.

"Kal-El, now that you're one of us – " Lex's voice had taken on a sardonic tone at this and Clark had responded with a reluctant and similar smile – "then you need to get a tour of the base." Blithely, Lex had tossed the cuffs toward the council table (Rojas had caught them, Clark remembered with some feeling of irony) and nodded toward the door. "Let's go."

Clark had goggled for a minute as Lex walked away and opened the door. Lex must have given some sort of password or reassurance to the guard, because when Clark half-sprinted to catch up, the guard had stood back. Lex had been talking to him.

"Jack Garvey, meet Kal-El of Krypton. Our newest recruit."

Surprise had filled the guard's eyes only for a short time, leading Clark to believe that gossip had traveled the base at the speed of light. As usual.

Jack Garvey hadn't held out his hand either. Clark had, and then had withdrawn it as the other man made no move to shake it. "I'm on your side," Clark had said.

The guard's eyes had darted to Lex, and getting no help there, had returned to Clark. Then the man had nodded his head. Clark would have liked it more if the motion hadn't been so skeptical.

"Uh-huh," the guard had muttered.

"Moving onward," Lex said airily. He smiled broadly. He towed Clark down the hallway. "Here we have our meeting rooms…."

Lex had – pulled? escorted? - Clark over what Clark now realized was most of the base, with an insouciance that had amazed him. Lex was in the presence of a member of the race that had killed billions. He walked with a man who could fry him with a look, who could rip him limb from limb with negligible effort. And Lex had thrown away his only defense. The kryptonite remained back in the council room. Clark had his full strength back.

And yet Lex had shown no fear and seemed astonishingly open about the base and its inhabitants. He had shown Clark their underground garden rooms, Clark absorbing the energy of the full-spectrum lights with eager avidity. He had taken Clark past the storerooms and through the kitchens.

And he had introduced Clark to every inhabitant of Metropolis base that they came across. By now, Clark knew that he had met about eighty percent of the inhabitants that day.

Some had mimicked the guard's action of a cautious neutrality. Some had been outright rude or angry. They refused to acknowledge him, and had looked like they had wanted to do worse. Lex's presence apparently had prevented them from acting upon their inclinations.

And some had acted friendly, actually shaking his hand, taking him at face value. Clark had made every one of them nervous – he could tell, just from the heartbeats and quick breaths – but a surprising number of humans were willing to let him prove himself.

Lex had taken him to the school rooms last. Twenty-three children, ranging from age four to thirteen, had studied at makeshift tables and desks. Clark had met every one of them, squatting down to speak solemnly to the littlest ones. The younger children had been shy of him due to his size; the older ones because they had begun to understand what a Kryptonian was.

A pair of twin girls came up to him. One had been shy and retiring, her hand in her sister's the only thing keeping her from retreating. The other had addressed Clark boldly.

"Mr. Luthor said you were a Kryptonian." The kid was direct, Clark had thought.

"Yes. I am." He still felt large and clumsy, even squatting on his heels to look the girl more or less in the eye.

"Are you going to kill us now?" No bitterness, just a polite request for information.

Clark had been taken aback. "No," he had said. "No. I'm not going to kill anybody. I'm here to help." He'd made his voice very firm on that last.

The girl – Maria Rodriguez, he'd been told, and her sister was Anita – had looked him in the eyes and then said, "OK then." And the two girls had skipped back to their desks.

He had caught Lex smiling. Clark had felt an incredible urge to burst out saying how sorry he was for what had happened to this world, to promise… Instead, he'd stood up and spoken to the whole room, children and teachers: "I'm not like the other Kryptonians. I'm…." _What? One of the good guys? _"I'm here to help." He repeated it lamely.

One of his father's sayings came to mind. "Words are cheap," Jonathan Kent had said many times. "It's actions that count." Remembering that, Clark had vowed to have his actions match his words.

And when Clark had gone back to the kitchens with Lex, he understood why all the inhabitants of Metropolis base were thin. That was the time when he'd started putting himself forward, using the abilities (despite his natural inclination and his parents' training to avoid overt displays of his Kryptonian powers) to heat water, boil soup, check canned goods for spoilage, and so on. It was when he'd seen what the children got to eat (the strict rationing was designed to give extra calories to children and pregnant women) that he decided that he really didn't need to eat every day, anyway.

Lex had showed him to this small - cell? – this room that had been designated as belonging to Kal-El. It had looked much the same as it did today.

"And this is your room," Lex had said, opening the door and showing it to Clark.

Clark hadn't entered. "Lex," he said, "what next?"

The other man had given him a glance, and for just a minute, Clark had seen a flash that revealed that Lex hadn't been as totally assured as he'd been projecting. Then the moment of – was it indecision? Weakness? – was over and Lex had taken on his usual confident urbanity.

"I'd advise that you spend tonight in your room," Lex had said. "Let everyone get used to…having you around, the whole idea. By tomorrow, we'll have a job for you."

"Am I free to go?" Clark had persisted. "Am I free?"

Lex had stared at him a long moment. "Kal-El – "

"Call me Clark. Please."

A sigh. "OK. Clark. Clark, you are free to go. You can walk out the door of Metropolis base right now." Lex smiled that same enigmatic smile. "And you'll know I'm speaking frankly when I tell you that we couldn't stop you if you really wanted to leave."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Clark muttered under his breath.

"But I wouldn't advise it. If you did, it would….be perceived that you are breaking the deal." Clark heard the unspoken message. Lex had put himself on the line, had done some political arm-twisting to get Clark where he stood right now. There weren't a lot of fluffy bunny feelings for Clark in some quarters. Right now he had better keep his nose clean.

Clark had stepped into the room. "No. I'm going to keep our deal. Keep my promises."

"All right then." Lex had stayed in the hallway. "Come to the council room tomorrow morning. We'll talk about what to do next."

Clark had nodded as Lex left. Then he sat down on the bed, evaluating his quarters. He'd been unimpressed with the accommodations then and was unimpressed now. He had spent a few minutes looking around, and then lain down. Normally energetic, his stamina had been sapped by prolonged kryptonite exposure and mental tension. Wondering if he was scheduled for "disposition" hadn't been particularly restful either.

Clark had stayed motionless on the bed for a long time, contemplating his situation, thinking up various plans. He'd drifted into a half-sleep, and it was then that he'd noticed the anomalies in the electrical field that tipped him off to the surveillance devices. He'd made no move, despite his immediate temptation to destroy them.

He did not, for the same reason he hadn't left Metropolis base to get some air. He was being a good little Kryptonian, doing nothing threatening. If they felt the need to have him under surveillance then he would do his best to make what they saw as boring and as non-threatening as possible. After a long time, he had finally fallen asleep.

The next day, they'd sent him out on a mission with Chloe. And since then, he'd rarely been at the base for more than a few days at a time. And his "accommodations" remained as dark and depressing as ever.

So now, as he returned from the aborted mission with Martha, Clark sighed. Getting to know Martha better had really been great. It made up for the failure of the rest of their task. And meeting Perry White – how different this forceful man had been from the broken lush that Clark had met in his own world! No, Clark would not be sorry to meet him for lunch next Thursday.

He wondered what Lex would think of that. Lex and Chloe knew that they'd visited Perry. Martha had mentioned it. She'd said nothing, interestingly, about their plans to meet with Perry next week. Lex had given Clark a searching gaze when Perry's name was mentioned. Did he know that Clark had heard about Lex's confiscation of Perry's vehicle? Probably. It was certain that Perry wouldn't keep quiet about it.

And that meant that Lex cared what Clark thought about him. It always surprised Clark, to see the outwardly confident Lex Luthor give away some of his inner insecurities. Of course, the other Lex had cared what Clark thought, too – in fact, he'd obsessed on it. Initial friendship had turned to intrusive curiosity that had led to hate.

The Lex in this world seemed to be a little different. He hadn't been a rich billionaire all his life. For the past three years, he'd been a hunted fugitive, a resistance guerrilla engaged in what he thought was a hopeless fight, a man who had seen his world come crashing down around him. What would that do to Lex?

And what did he feel about working with Clark? Clark had asked himself that a thousand times. Lex – no matter which world he was in - had a Machiavellian streak, Clark knew well. Was Lex just using him? Probably. Had they developed some sort of friendship? Probably not. It was probably a case of "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." And, Clark asked himself, which was he, in Lex's eyes?

He'd vote for enemy, Clark thought wearily as he took off his shirt. Lex never trusted anyone fully. Maybe he trusted the Chloe of this world. As Clark knew well, she was loyal beyond belief. But trust Clark? Never. When Clark and Martha, in their report, divulged that Clark had developed the power of flight, Lex had remained absolutely motionless. But something in his eyes made Clark think that Lex was not totally happy.

Chloe, on the other hand, had reacted almost with glee. She'd taken the news and had immediately demanded that Clark set up a time to take her flying. Martha had laughed and told Chloe to wait a bit, that Clark needed to have a little flying practice first. Lex had pursed his lips and wrenched the conversation back onto talk of the mission before Clark could respond.

Martha. It gladdened Clark's heart to see that Martha could be in the same room with him without flinching, that she would talk to him and address him directly. And what Clark found even more interesting was the way she had described their escape from Hank Hall and his henchmen. Or, more accurately, the way she hadn't described it.

"They incapacitated Clark with some kryptonite," Martha had said. "The other men left and I was able to take out Hall, thanks to Lois's lessons. We got out, and Clark discovered his talent for defying gravity."

Not a word about the kryptonite handcuffs. Not a word about the horrible moment when she'd taken a hatchet to his hands. And she hadn't said a thing, either, about his inhuman healing ability.

She – and Clark – had mentioned the Andrea Rojas connection. Lex and Chloe had raised their eyebrows, and the three council members had started some ferocious talking. The official story was that Rojas and Baker had decamped a short time after Clark had been freed, and there had been no further contact with them. But the sudden awkward silences and sharp gazes had made it obvious that Lex, Chloe, and Martha didn't want to speak of some things in Clark's presence.

It was fine, anyway; there was no way this could end well. Right now Clark was exhausted and depressed. He made his excuses and left the room. He'd safely traversed the halls of Metropolis base and came to his room. And, here he was.

He flopped down on the bed and almost instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Clark awoke the next morning, and felt a little frisson of excitement. He could fly! He might be an unwanted alien, member of a genocidal race, on a pauperized world, but darn it, he could fly. If he could only get some practice time…

He got up and stretched, ignoring the surveillance devices. Slipping on a pair of sweats, he walked briskly through the halls to the water tanks. He greeted the base inhabitants, actually swapping high-fives with Alan who dealt with water and sewer issues here at the base. Al had the usual large tank ready for Clark, who cycled up his heat vision until the water reached near-boiling temperature. Those hundreds of gallons would retain the heat for quite some time. Clark felt the slight drain that came from using his powers here underground, where the sun could not recharge him. The heat vision seemed to use him up the fastest.

He padded back to the showers. Words could not express how good it felt to be clean. He thought about throwing away the clothes he'd worn on the trip, the T-shirt and jeans stained with mud and blood and sweat and fear. In the end, his thrifty farm background wouldn't let him do that. He'd already lost a parka and jacket, vaporized during his flying lessons. Instead, he turned his T-shirt and jeans in to the laundry. At least here on the base you got laundry service. And it hadn't taken long for the laundry workers to take advantage of his abilities, either. Clark heated the water for them whenever he was in-base.

He thought about getting some breakfast. He went to the eating hall and quietly scanned. No. Better not today. Rations were still tight. Besides, he'd had Martha's food for the past few days. He could just fill up on sunlight. He should probably go scavenging again, look for those towns where everyone had died from the engineered plagues before they could deplete the food stores. He mentally ordered his stomach not to growl.

He checked his watch. It was instinctual – he always rose with the sun, but not everyone else did. Lex was probably at work already, so Clark went to his office. That was the pattern they'd fallen into – Lex sat at his desk and Clark approached him.

Lex's door was open. Clark knocked at it politely. Lex arose and met him at the door.

"Ah, Clark. Just who I wanted to see."

"Yes?" Clark asked.

Lex met him and shook hands. As ever, he showed no fear. They walked back into the office, Lex keeping Clark's gaze. "I've been doing some thinking. You have this new power – "

"Um, yes." Why did Lex always make him feel like the proverbial unarmed man in the battle of wits? Heck, Clark couldn't even make general conversation. "I need some practice – "

"Of course. You and Martha both mentioned that in your debriefing." As usual, Lex was ahead. "Clark, we have an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, as it were."

"Yes?"

"I'd like to send you overseas. You mentioned that too. We haven't heard anything for months. Years. Now, that will give you some practice in flying – you're not going to fall into the Atlantic or anything, are you?" Lex asked this with a mild lift of one eyebrow. Clark wondered if Lex really wanted him to fall into the ocean and drown. He wasn't sure.

"I think I can stay aloft."

"Good! Then I'd – we'd like you to check out Europe, India, Asia and so on – how do things look? Are there survivors? If there are, can you bring them back here to Metropolis base?"

"We?"

"I chatted with Chloe. And Oliver. And Bruce. Martha had some things to say, too."

"I see I've got the attention of the top ranks."

"You always do, Clark. You always did." Lex's voice invited Clark to share the joke. There was too much truth in it to be funny. "At any rate, from this minute you're on detached duty. Go and find out, come back and report. You have one month."

A few more pleasantries, and Lex had smoothly ushered Clark out of his office, all without letting Clark get a word in edgewise. Since Clark knew he needed the time to practice, he didn't protest much. He couldn't help comparing, though, the Lex of his world with this Lex. He'd had much better conversations with his own Lex, at least in the beginning. Try as he might, Clark could never break through that last little bit of…was it reserve? Disdain? Caution?... that this world's Lex held for him.

Clark shrugged. He hadn't told Lex that he would be taking Martha out for lunch on Thursdays. Oh well, Lex would find that out. Or, more probably, Martha would tell Lex. In the meantime, he wanted to go flying.

* * *

One week later, Clark spiraled down for a landing at Metropolis base in front of two goggle-eyed gate guards. "They said he couldn't fly – " he heard one telling the other _sotto voce_.

_I learned how, _he thought about saying. Instead, he just smiled at the gate guards as he passed them. Then he chastised himself – did he really want to act so alien in such a blatant fashion? What had happened to discretion? What was he thinking? All his display did was frighten people. Everybody knew he was Kryptonian but he didn't have to go around shoving it in their faces. He needed to keep on being discreet. No flaunting of the abilities. He'd forgotten that in the sheer fun of flying.

Clark traveled through the halls of the base. He went right to Martha's room. They'd agreed – they would do lunch. Together. And here he was to take her. To lunch. Like they'd said they would. It was only lunch.

Clark hesitated. Did she really want this? Was she just saying it because she'd effectively been in his power? No, Clark thought. Martha had been serious. And frankly, he wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to get to know this version of his mother better. He finally knocked.

Martha opened the door immediately. She looked up at him and gave a wobbly smile. "I was wondering…"

"You said Thursday at one." It was like some tortured parody of a date. Clark felt hideously awkward talking to her. He grabbed at a straw. "We were going to meet Perry, right?"

Relief spread over Martha's face. "Oh. Right." Despite their time spent together recently, under very trying circumstances, there was still a lot of nervousness when she addressed him directly. Especially now, when it had been a week since they'd last talked. "Um, do I need a coat?"

"Just a jacket." The Earth's warming had occurred with gratifying speed. Spring had finally arrived, only two and a half years late.

Martha went back inside her room and came out wearing several layers of sweaters. "This is all I have."

"You'll probably be fine." Clark usually didn't pay attention to climate conditions, but he had today, knowing that Martha would be out in the weather. As they walked through the halls of Metropolis base, he asked, "So, what's the latest?"

"Lex is out right now. He's been making plans to go teach Hank Hall a lesson." Martha nodded. "You were right."

Clark shrugged. "It's a good thing I've been overseas, then."

"Overseas? Where?"

"Just about all over." Clark couldn't keep the smile from his voice. He'd spent probably twenty hours a day flying. It was wonderful. When he flew, he could forget that he was alone, the last of his kind. He could bask in the sunlight, soak up the nourishing rays. He could hover high enough to see only the outlines of the continents, not the ruined cities.

"I can't say that I'm sorry to have been flying," Martha said cautiously.

"I was hoping you wanted to fly again." To fly with someone, to show them what he saw from the air was a marvelous feeling and Clark wanted to share his excitement. "If you're OK with it, I'll fly us to the _Daily Planet _building."

"It's not raining today, is it?"

Clark laughed. "No. It's a beautiful sunny day." They reached the exit. "See for yourself."

They passed the gate guard and went outside. Martha inhaled deeply. "It is." She stared up into the sky with closed eyes, letting the sunlight fall onto her face.

They flew to the _Planet _building in silence. Clark wondered what Martha was thinking now. Did she regret coming with him? Did she want to tell him that she'd reconsidered, that she didn't want to do lunch on Thursdays anymore? Was she still frightened despite her brave words?

Fortunately, Perry greeted them with a smile. Martha smiled back, and soon the two of them were into an easy conversation. Perry drew Clark in with a few questions, and Clark found himself describing his travels of the past week.

"Anything new?"

"I did find a survivalist enclave in Montana. There were several families there."

"Did you give them the standard speech?" Martha asked. Their eyes met and Clark could tell that like him, she was remembering their first assignment together.

"I didn't talk with them," Clark said sheepishly. "I was going to ask Martha if she wanted to come along. It's better when someone else does the talking. She's a good talker. I'm not."

"Ah," Perry said. "The perfect lead-in."

"What?"

"Clark, you need practice in persuasion. I can give you that practice. I want you to be a reporter for the _Daily Planet._" Perry seemed to be repeating a prepared speech. Certainly his lead-in was only remotely related to their conversation.

"What?"

"It's an obvious fit. You'll be our foreign correspondent. Our travel writer. Heck, you work with the Metropolis Council – you can be our local political and government news guy too. And you can write human interest articles in your spare time."

Martha choked and then began laughing. "Human interest! He's not even hu– " She swallowed her last words at Perry's sharp glance.

"Of course not," Perry said matter-of-factly. "That's why Clark can write with a perspective that no one else has."

"Wait a minute!" Clark burst out.

"What? Are you negotiating for more pay? I haven't even made you an offer yet."

"I'm not a reporter!"

"Clark," Perry said patiently, "If you write a story and it is published in the _Daily Planet_, then by definition you are a _Daily Planet _reporter." He looked away and muttered, "These days, at least."

"No! I mean, I don't know how to write newspaper articles!"

Perry fixed Clark with a gimlet eye. Clark suddenly remembered that the Perry White in his own universe had had the nickname "Bulldog". Perry – no matter which universe he was in - just wouldn't let go. "As I recall, when you were telling me your life story last week, you mentioned that you had written for the _Torch_."

"Yes, but that was a high school newspaper! Not the _Daily Planet_!"

"Clark, I am touched – touched to the heart – that you actually know the difference, and that you care." Perry gave him a mock bow. "Do you think that our other reporters had any more experience when they came on staff? No. Well, mostly no. They got their on-the-job training and so will you. Their editor – me - polished their writing and whipped them into shape. So don't let me hear you whine about experience. You've been published. You know the rules of grammar. You know how to spell – you do, right?"

"I did read the dictionary once," Clark admitted sheepishly.

"And?" Martha asked.

"Eidetic memory."

"There you go!" Perry couldn't keep the smile off his face at Clark's admission. Martha just sighed. "You're hired!"

"But…" Clark looked helplessly over at Martha.

"You're working for Lex Luthor?"

"Yes."

"Did he sign you to an exclusive contract? Did he say that you couldn't do other stuff in your spare time?"

Clark looked at Martha for help. She looked as bemused as he felt. "Well… no… I just assumed."

"Now, Clark," Perry said pedantically, "you know what happens when you _assume_?"

Clark sighed. He'd walked right into that one. "You make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'?"

"Exactly! Now, I'm sure you could fit this job into your copious free time."

"My copious free time?"

"Exactly!"

"What exactly are the duties, Perry?" Martha asked. She seemed to be getting a lot of enjoyment out of Clark's discomfiture. Had she and Perry plotted this? Or was she just taking advantage of the moment?

"Clark's a reporter, he does it in addition to his other job, he writes primarily about what he's doing, and also writes other articles as assigned."

"I have to write about myself? Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

"Certainly, but unless you want to carry another reporter with you wherever you go, you're stuck with it. The _Planet _doesn't have much of a travel budget anymore. Plus, I'll be the ruthless editor making sure you only write the facts about what you did. It'll be me putting the spin on it. Not you."

"I'm not sure…"

"The editor – me – will help Clark develop his writing to _Daily Planet _standards," Perry went on cheerfully. He addressed Martha, who seemed even more amused. "Salary and benefits to be determined. Plus, room and board here at the _Daily Planet _building if he wants."

The last was what kept Clark from dismissing the offer outright. He couldn't keep the eagerness out of his voice. "A room with windows?"

"Yes, with windows. Top floor if you want it. On second thought, the floor beneath the top floor, because I'm not giving up the penthouse."

A room that wasn't underground. A room where he could see the sun. A room where, hopefully, he wouldn't be under surveillance. A room that wasn't underground. He repeated the thought. It became a mantra: He would be able to see the sun. If it had windows, he could fly in and out, He could see the sun. A room that wasn't underground.

"Well…"

"Excellent. It's a deal, then. My assistant will have you sign the papers. You start tomorrow. Clark Kent, welcome to the _Daily Planet._" Perry strode out, presumably to find the aforementioned assistant.

Clark stared at Martha. "What just happened?"


	16. Chapter 16

He landed gracefully. Martha slipped out of his arms to step to the ground. "You got the stuff?" she asked. Clark nodded and hoisted the sack of canned goods and the copy of the _Daily Planet._

"I didn't know that hiring on at the _Planet _was going to require me to be a newspaper delivery boy too." Clark paused a minute to admire Perry's scheme for the thirtieth time.

It was all due to the "magic" Kryptonian crystal in the basement of the _Planet _building. (In an example of Clarke's Law, the Kryptonian technology was sufficiently advanced so as to be indistinguishable from magic.) The crystal had kept the lights on and the water running when the rest of civilization fell apart. Brainiac's taunting gesture of making the _Planet _the newspaper of record for the destruction of the human race had had a serendipitous outcome.

Not only did the crystal power the building, it also powered a "magic" black box. Clark had laughed when he heard the term. "Black box" was appropriate, both literally and figuratively. Garbage was shoved in at one end. Newsprint, the exact size and shape needed for the _Daily Planet _presses, came out the other. Different settings yielded ink, letter-size paper, computer printer supplies, and similar items necessary for the smooth running of the _Daily Planet_ operation. Alas, despite all Perry's wishes, only newspaper-related articles could be obtained from the black box – it wouldn't produce food or clothing, for example. Just things related to putting out the _Daily Planet_.

But Perry could essentially print his newspaper for free. Pre-Invasion newspaper executives would have killed for Perry's advantages. No need to worry about the cost of paper or ink. No need to pay the electric bill. No need to arrange delivery of supplies. He only had to pay his reporters, most of whom were just grateful to have food and shelter.

So Perry printed a daily newspaper, (despite the fall of civilization) and distributed the _Planet_ for any payment whatsoever, or for free. People usually paid in food or labor credits, the basic currency of this new society. When Clark had hired on, Perry got the brilliant idea of having Clark distribute the _Planet _to the settlements and enclaves and villages of humans that still existed. Not only did Clark deliver the newspaper, he also brought back news from the scattered outposts of humanity.

Then Perry made him write up the news he'd gathered. And once Clark had submitted his rough draft, Perry would eviscerate it with his red pencil and make Clark re-write it. And re-write it again. And again – until it met Perry's tough standards. Clark knew his writing was improving under Perry's ruthless tutelage. No matter what universe he was in, having Perry White be his tutor was a priceless educational opportunity.

When Clark had grumbled about the situation, Lex had quizzed him and burst out laughing. Lex then asked – or ordered – Clark to continue. It was a rare moment of agreement between Perry White and Lex Luthor. Lex got the information too, before Perry printed it. And Clark was gradually getting to know almost everyone on Earth since there were so few survivors. It was a unique method of bringing together the country – the Kryptonian message service, Martha joked. So many other communications channels had been lost or broken that Clark often was the only way messages could be sent.

Martha broke into Clark's reverie, speaking with the same joking tone Clark had used. "Well, you know Perry. He'll do anything to increase circulation. What else does he have you doing?"

"Why? What have you heard?"

"I heard that you took another reporter to Gotham City the other day. Carl, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. I should have reminded Perry that ferrying people wasn't in the contract."

"I heard you do it all the time."

Clark squirmed under Martha's gaze. "Well…" They both knew Martha was right. She wasn't the only person he'd flown, just the first. And Carl had thanked Clark, very politely. Not all of his passengers did that.

She continued. "And if you can stand up to Editor-In-Chief Perry White over a matter that concerns the _Daily Planet_, more power to you."

"Uh… yeah." Martha was right. Perry had a mission, a vision. He was going to see the _Planet _be the newspaper it had been before the Invasion, and then he was going to make it better than that. It was like the Borg on _Star Trek_, Clark thought ruefully. Resisting him was futile.

"I read Carl's story. He wrote up a very nice interview with Bruce Wayne." Martha seemed pensive. "I haven't seen Bruce in quite a while."

"If you want to visit him, I'll take you," Clark offered immediately.

"Thank you, Clark. Ah, Bruce… Bruce takes a little preparation. Not just yet, I think."

"You know, I still haven't met him."

"Bruce? Well, when he wants to meet you, he'll meet you." Martha shrugged her shoulders. "That's how Bruce is." They walked together through the streets of Medicine Lodge.

Despite the requirements of his new job, Clark still had ingrained habits of discretion regarding the use of his abilities. Although he now he flew regularly to the towns where the stubborn maintained their outposts of frontier humanity, he always landed some distance away from any possible witnesses. He'd done so today, leaving them a few blocks away from the fortified apartment complex that housed Gloria, Dr Klein, and the other adults and children in Medicine Lodge.

He heard Martha sigh in anticipation, and his own heart pounded a little faster. They both enjoyed seeing Gloria and her troop. But if Clark was honest, he'd admit that the big bonus was the fresh vegetables. Gloria's group had an excellent indoor garden. There was an unspoken agreement between Clark and Martha on one hand, and Gloria on the other. Gloria would serve them fresh vegetables – tomatoes! A green salad! – and they brought her that week's issues of the _Daily Planet. _

Plus, Martha would spend a good thirty minutes gossiping with Gloria. Clark didn't know what they talked about – after the first five minutes the first time, Dr. Klein had asked for his help on one of the hydroponic assemblies. Clark had eagerly followed the eccentric physician, and had enjoyed the time he spent tinkering. The constant puttering, time and effort spent on machines necessary for their lifestyle reminded Clark unerringly of the time he and his father had lavished on their ancient tractor.

As a bonus, Clark enjoyed talking with Dr. Klein. The man had an astounding breadth of intellect along with a voracious appetite for learning. He'd pumped Clark dry about the restoration projects in Metropolis and around the country. Clark, out of habit, had minimized his own role in the latter, but was still able to satisfy Bernie's – Dr. Klein, their first afternoon together, had told Clark to call him Bernie – curiosity. Sometimes the other adults worked with Bernie and Clark, and Clark gradually developed an acquaintance with the other members of Gloria's tiny band.

As he strode along with Martha, Clark couldn't help but contrast her easy familiarity against the fear she'd had at their first real meeting. She had obviously decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. A warm glow coursed through him. He'd hated seeing her so afraid of him. Soothing her fears and winning her confidence, meant more to him than removing a dozen stranded barges from the Mississippi River.

In fact, she'd come along with him quite a few times now. He'd make his regular weekly flights, and Martha would accompany him – perhaps not for the full circuit, but certainly for a few stops. When she found out that Clark went to Gloria's on a regular basis, and that Gloria fed him fresh tomatoes - "I'm in," she'd told Clark firmly. He'd laughed and agreed.

And so today, Clark looked forward to their regular weekly meeting. Perhaps it was logical how, in this brave new world with so few people in it, you became so attached to those you knew. Gloria still refused to bring herself and her group to Metropolis, but she had relaxed quite a bit. Clark had met most of the adults. That had taken a few weeks for Clark, and he thought that it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't started bringing Martha with him. And when they visited, Gloria no longer had an man with a shotgun standing by in hiding.

Clark still hadn't met all the children, though. He'd cautiously scanned the complex once and had seen the kids. Two of them were young girls, just fourteen or fifteen. He could understand Gloria's caution. She probably reasoned it out to herself: _A dashing young man from Metropolis – a traveling salesman type….And you know the stories about them. _

Clark roused himself from his reverie as he knocked at the door. Klein answered it.

"Hi, Bernie."

"Oh, hi, Clark. Martha." Bernie Klein seemed uncharacteristically somber.

"What are you doing on door duty?" That was unusual. Everyone recognized that Dr. Klein was much better suited for work in the "back room", making improvements to the gardening setup, or building a satellite phone out of old oatmeal boxes and copper wire, or working on a robotic scavenging device.

Bernie opened his mouth. Before he could answer, a loud groan echoed throughout.

"What was that?" Martha asked first. She stepped inside decisively and headed towards the kitchen. Another moan rang out.

"Yeah, what is that?" Clark asked. It sounded like someone in pain. He followed Martha. Bernie didn't try to stop them as they made their way through the kitchen into a back bedroom. Clark had never been to this part of the complex before; he'd been in the public rooms and in the work areas only.

It was a fairly large room for an apartment complex. A table near the door held a tray with a glass of water on it. Two chairs sat on either side of the twin bed.

One of the young girls lay on the bed, feverish and sweating. Peter, one of the adult men of Gloria's little colony, sat beside her. He looked tired and haggard, as if he'd been awake for days. Gloria sat in a chair on the other side of the bed, her face stern. The girl moaned again and clutched at her stomach.

Clark frowned. As Martha burst out, "Good heavens! What is this!" he discreetly activated the X-ray vision.

"Miranda has appendicitis," Dr. Klein blurted out, just before Clark could say the same words.

Martha looked at Clark. He gazed back, their thoughts in agreement. There were surgeons in Metropolis. He could get this girl there in minutes – no, seconds.

"I can take her to Metropolis," Clark volunteered.

"No!" said Peter fiercely. Clark saw him rise out of his exhaustion. "My daughter is staying here!" He took Miranda's hand in his own and rubbed it.

Clark stared in bafflement. Gloria saw his confusion. Carefully, she said, "Peter has seen too many go to Metropolis…and never come back."

Clark shut his jaw with a snap. Yeah, he could understand that. Metropolis was where Zod had spent quite a bit of time. And, from the stories Clark had heard, Zod hadn't been any kind of benevolent ruler. He'd heard some very ugly hints about the Kryptonian dictator having a thing for human females.

On the other hand, Miranda was really suffering. Maybe it was his duty to convince her father to let Clark take her. Certainly he couldn't just let her die! But snatching her away from her family just didn't seem the right thing to do, either. He shifted uncertainly from foot to foot.

Bernie Klein said longingly, "I am a surgeon, after all. It's just that I don't have any anesthetic, or surgical instruments, or suture material, or gloves.… There's nothing in this town." His voice died away as Miranda moaned again. He grimaced. "I could do it…I could take out her appendix if I only had the tools…."

Martha's gaze met Clark's once again. He knew they had the same thought. If Klein needed the tools, Clark would get the tools for him. Clark felt relief. He wouldn't have to insist that Miranda come with him to Metropolis for surgery. Her family could stay with her. Martha gave Clark a tiny nod.

"Isn't there a hospital in Dodge City?" Martha asked.

Gloria looked at Martha suspiciously. "Yes…."

With that, Clark slipped into super-speed. From what he'd seen, Miranda didn't have much time. If she was lucky enough to have the miracle of an actual surgeon in her dwelling, someone who could help her, Clark would help them by getting the supplies needed.

Because he'd zoomed away so quickly, Clark didn't hear Gloria complete her sentence, "…but it was looted during the troubles."

But when Clark got to the Dodge City Mercy Hospital, he found out what Gloria had been trying to tell them. The doors and windows were smashed. The shelves and cupboards which had once held bedding and scrub clothing and surgery supplies and medications stood empty, their doors either smashed or torn off their hinges.

Clark barely avoided stepping on bones in the hallway. He stared in dismay at the scene of mass death. He remembered that Chloe had said something about "engineered plague". So of course, when everyone had gotten sick, they'd gone to the hospital. And there, the sheer numbers of ill had overwhelmed everyone, and the hospital had served only as a hecatomb. Supplies had been used up, and never replenished during the chaos of the Kryptonian invasion of Earth. And certainly looters in the thirty-month winter that followed had cleaned out whatever remained.

He extended his special vision to the other three floors of the hospital. The same. There was no help to be had here. His mind raced. Time was short. He had not slipped back into regular speed – only seconds had passed since he left Gloria's.

Getting an idea, Clark sped down to the hospital lobby. Clark rummaged through the reception desk and pulled out a binder. In it was a list of addresses and telephone numbers of referring clinics and doctors' offices. He smiled. Surely he'd have better luck there?

He didn't. The first seven places he went were similar to the main hospital – patients had gone to see their doctor en masse, supplies were gone. Clark gritted his teeth and checked the location of the next entry on the list. He wasn't going to give up. He would find what Miranda needed and get it to Dr. Klein. And he'd get it there in time, even if he had to check every medical office and clinic and hospital in the next five counties. He sped to the next doctor's office. He stopped. Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He'd passed a veterinary clinic. Suddenly Clark felt a stirring of hope. He checked the entrances – all locked. Discreetly, he went around to the back and forced open the service door.

The close atmosphere and musty smell led him past ranks of dog kennels to an interior office. The first mummified body was that of a man wearing a white lab coat. It was difficult to tell his age, though. The shotgun blast to the face had made sure of that.

On the other side of the room lay the bodies of two rough-looking men. Beside one body was a box. Clark, scanning with his special vision, noticed the bullet wound in the chest of the first. The other body had the characteristic bone lesions that Clark associated with the Kryptonian-engineered plague. He nodded as he figured out the probable sequence of events.

The veterinarian had holed up in his office. Two men had somehow gained entrance. The vet shot one of them before getting shot himself. The sole survivor had gathered up some goodies in a box, but must have been incubating the plague. He'd probably stopped a moment to rest, feeling sick, and had never gotten up again.

Clark checked out the box. Vials of drugs, most of which he'd never heard of. He knew what morphine was, but what was diazepam? Dobutamine? Cefazolin? Well, it was more than he'd found anywhere else. And presumably Bernie would know what to make of it.

He took a whirlwind tour through the rest of the veterinary clinic. Clark's spirits rose at the sight of an anesthetic machine and a green oxygen tank. Certainly that would be helpful. But the racks of different-sized plastic tubing and odd-looking face masks deterred him from just picking it up and rushing it back to the complex. He should ask Bernie what he needed, first.

Clark gathered up the box. At least he had something to show. He put on extra speed to make it back to Gloria's. He'd already been away at least three minutes, despite trying to stay in super-speed throughout. At least he had something to get them started. If he could take Bernie back with him, Bernie could show Clark what he needed. Or, if Bernie wanted, Clark could just bring everything in the clinic back. But that would take a few trips.

He sped back into Gloria's complex, glad that Bernie had forgotten to lock the door so that Clark didn't need to stop to knock again. Excited, he rushed into Miranda's bedroom and dumped the contents of the box onto the table.

"I found some stuff! Bernie, I need you to go with me…." He trailed off. Belatedly, Clark realized two things. Number one, the social temperature of the room had dropped to about a hundred degrees below zero. And number two, Gloria had a shotgun jammed up against Martha's chin, and her finger was on the trigger. The wind from his arrival ruffled Martha's hair. Clark could smell the fear on everyone in the room.

"Whoa!" Clark burst out. "Don't shoot!"

The other man, Peter, had his handgun out. It pointed directly at Clark. Dr. Klein stood off to the side – well out of the line of fire, Clark was relieved to see.

"You're the Kryptonian," Gloria said harshly.

"Yes," Clark said, cautiously. He remained very still. He couldn't help getting a tinge of defensiveness in his voice. "I thought you knew that already."

"What?" Gloria asked, never moving. She was staying very still, too. And Martha was staying the stillest of all. Clark could see her swallow convulsively, could hear her pounding heart. God, if there was one more horror he didn't want to see, it was his alternate-world-mother's brains scattered all over the wallpaper.

"Well, we've been coming here every week for months now," Clark tried to sound harmless. "I thought Martha had mentioned it." He really had. How else could Martha have explained their regular visits?

"Strange. She forgot to mention that little detail." Bernie and Peter seemed content to let Gloria do the talking.

Now that he thought about it, Clark had a pretty good idea why Martha hadn't said anything. He would taint her by association. Better to just keep the peace by remaining silent. It wasn't lying, not really. Unfortunately, Clark had blown their cover and Gloria had reacted with the speed and decisiveness that Clark had always known she possessed. This woman, after all, was a survivor. She was used to making quick decisions.

"Please put the gun down. Please don't shoot her," Clark pleaded. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."

"Sure you are," Gloria said disbelievingly. Her posture didn't waver.

"I am. And please don't shoot my partner." Clark didn't know what to do. Sure, he could move fast. But was he fast enough to beat the cloud of deadly pellets at point-blank range? He dared not heat up the gun, or burn Gloria's hand, or blow with his freezing breath. She might reflexively pull the trigger and – Clark's mind shied away. And, even if Clark could save Martha from the shotgun blast, she would still be at risk from the other shooter in the room.

"Please don't shoot Martha," he repeated. Maybe if he repeated it fifty more times?

Miranda groaned once again. Involuntarily, everyone's eyes went to her. Clark's eyes snapped back to the box and he remembered how this whole thing had started.

"I am here to help," he said again, slowly. "I went out and got this. I think you can use it. Let me show you."

Gloria said, "Stay still." She punctuated the command with a tiny jab of the shotgun into Martha's chin. But she took her eyes away from Clark's for a moment to glance at the tumbled vials on the tabletop. "Bernie will check them out." She nodded to Klein.

Bernie's look of fascination turned to dubiety. He swallowed hard. Clark's heart sank. Was it always to be this way when he revealed his alien origins? Just once, he'd like to see someone say, "Hey! It's the Kryptonian! Glad you're here!" But _that_ never happened.

Klein nodded choppily and hesitantly stepped to the table. He checked one vial, then another. His nervousness disappeared as he examined the other vials. "This is great!" He turned to Clark. "Where did you get these?"

Clark felt a small easing of tension in the room. He'd managed to shift the focus away from him being Kryptonian – always a more successful conversational strategy, he'd found. "Dodge City. The hospital was looted, but I found a veterinary clinic there with all the stuff."

"What else did they have?" Klein's question was incisive. "Did they have surgical instruments? Intravenous catheters? Fluids?"

"Um….I think so? I didn't check out all the cupboards. I was only looking for medications."

Klein removed all the vials from the box, setting them on the table. He dug around in the box one last time before turning it upside down. A mote of dust spiraled down. "Did you bring any syringes? I can't use these without syringes."

"Uh…no." _Gee, good thinking, Clark_, he chastised himself. He'd been so excited to find the drugs that he'd forgotten everything else in the rush to get back.

Klein glanced at Miranda tossing restlessly on the bed, her father standing tensely nearby, keeping his handgun aimed at Clark. Bernie addressed Clark intently: "You can fly, right? If you're a Kryptonian, you can fly?"

Clark caught Martha's gaze and for a moment they almost snickered. He remembered Martha telling him her thoughts about their first meeting: _We finally get a Kryptonian on our side and he's defective. He can't fly. _Well, Clark had learned how to fly since then. He swallowed. Even though everyone on this world knew what Kryptonians were and what they could do, Clark always got a little churning in his gut when he admitted to being an alien. He'd spent so many years hiding it, denying any oddities….

He said it quietly. "Yes, I can fly."

"Can you take me to this place? Where you got all the stuff?" Now Klein's voice was urgent.

"Well, yeah." Clark stole a glance at Gloria. Comprehension was dawning.

"Gloria," Klein said, "I've got to go. I need to see what they have there. This is our chance." He seemed much more hopeful.

"What?"

"Clark will take me there." Klein was very businesslike now. "I'll look over the stuff. He'll bring everything back. I'll be able to operate."

Gloria now looked as befuddled as Clark felt. Klein had morphed from the cheerful, fuzzy absent-minded professor into a task-focused, competent-sounding man. In fact, it reminded Clark of the way the Lois Lane of his world would talk fast and Clark would end up doing something crazy. He'd end up asking himself, "What just happened?"

Bernie just had that same kind of vibe. It was like he'd switched identities.

"But….he's Kryptonian."

"Yes," Klein admitted to Gloria, looking back at Clark. "He is. This is our chance, Gloria."

Peter, who had stayed silent throughout, took his eyes off Clark to glance down at his daughter. His arm slowly lowered.

Gloria noticed that her backup had lowered his gun. She adjusted her hands on the shotgun slightly.

"Just a minute," Clark said firmly.

Everyone looked at him.

"I want to help you. I'm willing to take Bernie to Dodge City to get medical supplies, but I'm not going to do it as long as you're holding a shotgun on my partner."

Silence. Gloria didn't move the gun.

"I don't know what you think shooting Martha will do. But if you do, it'll…. ruin everyone's day." Clark deliberately chose words that sounded non-threatening. "And I'll be upset – " here Clark allowed just a hint of red to dramatically show in his eyes. Based on the way Gloria's heart rate increased, she'd seen the Kryptonian heat vision in action before. He continued. "And none of us will be happy." Clark stayed still. He hadn't moved since he'd come barreling in there to find Martha under threat. Did they think they could control him by threatening her? Well, yes, it was working. Except that it was delaying things that needed to be done.

"On the other hand," Clark continued sunnily, "if you put the gun down and let Martha go, I'll go with – " _that sounded better than "take"_ - "Bernie and we'll get the stuff. Which I was going to do anyway. You don't have to make threats to get me to help."

Gloria's expression suggested that the threats weren't made to get Clark to help – they were made to make Clark not hurt them. Everyone in the room knew it.

Clark continued talking slowly and carefully. "Bernie will operate on Miranda and save her life. And that's the important thing here, isn't it?" Clark stared straight at Gloria. He could hear her heart pounding. He saw sweat beading on Martha's face. Clark added one last word. "Please."

Gloria's eyes widened at the "please". She glanced at Peter. They locked eyes for a minute, communicating silently. She slowly lowered the shotgun. Clark sighed in relief and saw Martha doing the same. Martha stepped away from the wall, away from Gloria. She picked her way across the room carefully to stand next to Clark. He wanted to hug her in relief. But he made himself stand still. The shotgun was still loaded and the safety was still off.

Miranda moaned feverishly again. Everyone looked at her. The tension broke.

Martha stepped up to take control. "OK, I'll wait in the kitchen. Clark, you and Bernie get outside and take off for Dodge City. Peter, I'm assuming you want to stay with your daughter." She deliberately said nothing to Gloria.

Silence.

Exasperatedly, Martha said, "What are you waiting for? Get going!" She pushed at Clark.

Broken out of his spell, Clark turned to Klein. "You all set?"

Klein swallowed. "Do I need a coat?"

"No, you'll be fine. Let's get going." Clark strode to the door. Bernie cast one look around the room, then trotted after him. Just outside the front door, Clark stopped. "I hope you're not afraid of heights."

"Not really, but aaaahh!" Bernie cried out as Clark grasped him around the waist and lifted off. He wriggled in Clark's grasp as they reached cruising altitude, looking around wide-eyed. "You really _can_ fly. That's fascinating! Do you know how you do it? Do you have to think about it? Can you use your other powers while you're flying? How do you know where you're going? You're carrying me, how much other stuff can you carry? Because I need a lot for the surgery, you know."

Clark, overwhelmed by the questions, could hardly decide what to answer first. He opted for answering none, making a quick soft landing at the veterinary clinic in Dodge City. As he landed, and set Klein down gently, he said, "You know, Bernie, why don't we hold the questions till after we've done our job."

"You'll stick around, though, won't you, Clark?" Klein seemed anxious. "Please don't go till we can talk, OK?"

"OK." Clark ushered Bernie around to the back door.

"Promise?"

This was different. Usually people were only too happy for the Kryptonian to leave. Of course, hadn't Clark just been wanting someone to show this amount of enthusiasm? Now that it was happening, though, it was rather disconcerting. "OK. I promise."

Clark cycled up the heat vision. When he'd left, he'd welded the door shut, not wanting any looters to take what he needed. Perhaps it was a senseless precaution, given the lack of population these days. But Clark had felt he should make sure.

He collimated his vision down to "pinpoint laser" and sliced through the welds he'd put between door and doorframe. He pulled open the door, ignoring Bernie's goggling, and said, "After you."

"That was the heat vision, wasn't it? You can cone it down like that? I only ever saw the others use a broad beam. What's your level of control on that? Can you see when you use it?"

He was like a little kid, Clark decided. And Clark was the fascinating new toy.

"Uh, Bernie…..later?"

Disappointment clouded Klein's face. He remembered their mission. "OK. Yeah."

Fortunately, their job was a good distraction. The two men walked among the small rooms. "What do we need from here, Bernie?"

"Let me see…excellent! Here's some IV fluids, we'll want all those….and just put all those needles and syringes and catheters in a box, if you will…" Clark caught Bernie goggling again after Clark slipped into super-speed to pack up everything that Bernie indicated.

"How do you do that, anyway? Never mind. We'll want those gloves – hmm, I usually wear seven and a halfs, but I'll settle for eights – bring the whole box. And this must be the surgery prep room," Klein said, turning around to see the cupboards full of green-wrapped bundles and other mysterious items. Through a windowed door, Clark saw a stainless steel surgical table, a strange item of tubes and steel and glass that apparently was an anesthetic machine, a monitoring device like the one that had been used on his father when Jonathan was in for heart surgery, and other items.

Bernie stood, pondering. "Clark." He'd morphed into the task-focused, sharp-eyed driven man again.

"Yes?"

"I need everything in these two rooms. Can you take that much?"

"Not all at once. What do you want first?"

Klein looked undecided for a minute, then said, "That surgery table. Get it back to Peter and Gloria and have them set up a room. I need space all around the surgery table. I need a room with good light, and I need running water not too far away."

"You got it."

Clark picked up the table and had a thought. "Bernie?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you stand near the edge of the room? I'm going to be moving pretty fast here, if I have to make a bunch of trips back and forth."

"Oh yeah, good idea," Klein said absently, moving toward at the open-shelved cupboards and grabbing for a wrapped green bundle. He seemed already to be making mental lists.

Clark smiled. Bernie could immerse himself in _anything._ He picked up the table and flew it to Gloria's. It took him longer than he wanted. The table had poor aerodynamics.

He maneuvered the surgical table through Gloria's hallways at super-speed, and dumped it into the kitchen, next to the kitchen table. Martha and Gloria were sitting next to each other – _how'd that happen, anyway? _– and they both flinched when he dropped out of super-speed. Clark saw the shotgun propped up in a corner, the safety on.

"Bernie says to get a room ready for surgery. He needs good light, and running water not too far away," Clark parroted. He didn't give them a chance to reply. "I'll be back."

He zipped back to Dodge City to find that Bernie wanted him to take the anesthesia machine and the oxygen tank this time. Clark wrapped one arm around the five-foot-tall green tank, tried to pick up the anesthesia machine with his other arm, and decided to make two trips. It would be too easy to bang the breakable glass machine against the metal oxygen tank. Disastrous.

When he dropped off the oxygen tank, he hadn't planned on staying. But Martha's quick "Clark!" when he blurred in caught his attention.

"What?"

"Can you carry this surgery table up to the third floor? Gloria says there's a room with a skylight and better windows there."

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. Just show me where." The table wasn't heavy, anyway, just a hundred pounds or so. Gloria led the way through halls and up stairs. Clark knew there were other children in this modified apartment complex but he heard none now. The last few times he'd visited, he'd been able to hear their shushed noises. Today – absolute silence. He feared it was the silence of the prey in the presence of the predator – or what they thought was the predator. Gloria couldn't prevent him from helping Miranda, but she was going to hide away the children of her group, as a miser holds onto a precious pearl.

Of course, Clark thought sardonically, if he were really the violent and ferocious Kryptonian they expected him to be, he could have those children winkled out in no time at all. He'd known they were there all along. There was no hiding them from him. He shook his head. He would remain in official ignorance of their presence. And he refused to use his special vision to tell where in the complex they were.

Gloria pushed open a door. This apartment was on the south end of the building, and it had a skylight. Sunlight also streamed in through the large windows. The clean hardwood floors lacked any furniture. "Here," Gloria said shortly, and Clark set down the table in the sunbeam. A kitchen sink was not far away.

"After you," Gloria said, gesturing him forward. Clark recognized her nervousness from dealing with Martha and others. She didn't like having him behind her, where she couldn't see him.

"OK," he said obediently, and traipsed back downstairs at regular speed. He wanted to check on Martha. She had moved back to Miranda's bedroom and was sponging the girl's forehead with a cool cloth. Miranda's father Peter held his daughter's hand. His eyes were closed.

"Are you all right?" Clark asked Martha. After all, it wasn't twenty minutes since she had just been threatened with a shotgun. Peter's eyes sprang open.

"I'm fine, Clark," Martha said. "But you'd better hurry." Comprehension crossed her face. "Look at Miranda."

"I am," Clark said.

"No, _look _at her. You know, like you did for me when I was injured."

"Oh." Clark squinted. He focused past clothing, past skin, past muscle. He wished he'd done more looking, now. Of course, he'd been careful to respect everyone's privacy. But now – was all that redness normal? That swelling? He stared a bit more. OK. If that was the appendix, it definitely wasn't normal.

"What do you see?" asked Martha.

"Um….her insides look angry." Clark deliberately avoided Peter's gaze. Knowing how Martha had felt when he'd X-rayed her body….maybe he should have asked for permission first.

"Well, get going then!"

Clark nodded, blurred into speed, and took off. His mouth twisted in a tiny smile. For a minute, Martha had sounded just like his mother.

"What took you so long?" Bernie asked when Clark landed.

"They wanted me to move stuff upstairs."

"OK, but let's get going." Bernie was getting antsy, Clark recognized.

"No time to lose?"

"Clark," Klein said very seriously, "Miranda's only chance is if I can get that appendix out before it bursts. The surgery isn't going to be a piece of cake, either, but she's young and healthy and she might make it through, especially now that you've found all this for us. But if her appendix bursts….there's no way we can manage that." He fixed Clark with a gimlet eye. "Time is of the essence."

Clark remembered his view of Miranda's insides. "Right."

"Take these surgical packs, and this too." 'This' was a white cube with a number-keyboard and LED display on its front. "That's the sterilizer. Have Gloria run the surgery instrument packs through the sterilizer. The packs are already wrapped, I checked them. All she has to do is plug in the sterilizer, put the packs inside, pour water in the reservoir in the top, and follow the instructions in the manual here."

"OK." And Clark was off again.

That was the pattern for the next thirty minutes – Clark transferred items as quickly as he could, repeating Klein's instructions. Gradually the makeshift surgery area in Gloria's building acquired necessary implements. The sterilizer beeped, announcing the completion of its task. Bernie, in Dodge City, finally pronounced himself satisfied, and Clark took him back to Medicine Lodge, going straight to the third-floor room with the impromptu surgery setup.

Klein looked around, apparently making ticks on some mental checklist. "I think we're ready for our patient," he told Clark and Gloria. They trooped downstairs – this time Klein led the way, followed by Clark. Gloria brought up the rear once again. From her racing heartbeat, Clark could tell that she still feared him. Strangely, Klein acted normally, and based on his reading of Bernie's breathing and heart and other things, Clark thought that Bernie didn't care that Clark was Kryptonian. Or else he was too engrossed to think about it.

They filed to Miranda's room. "We're ready for surgery," Klein told Peter. "Follow Gloria to the third floor."

Clark saw that Peter was a small man; his daughter was already as tall as he was. Like everyone else, he was thin after thirty months of privation. Not only that, he slumped tiredly, drained by hours of waiting at his daughter's bedside. "I can carry her," Clark offered. It was what he did, after all. He used his strength to help others.

Peter stared at him. "No thank you," he said tonelessly. Despite the neutral tone, it was apparent that Clark's offer had insulted him.

Clark sighed. "OK." He couldn't, he _wouldn't_ go ripping the man's daughter from his arms. Even if he felt that Peter was going to fall backwards down the stairs trying to carry Miranda up them. So Clark stood back as Peter, with help from Bernie and Gloria, hoisted Miranda's limp body into Peter's arms. He trailed behind Peter, ready to catch the man if he fell.

Probably because of Clark's presence behind him, Peter made it safely up the stairs with his burden. There was a moment of awkwardness before Clark realized that they wanted to remove Miranda's clothing and they didn't want him in the room when they did it. When the light dawned, he excused himself politely. He heard Peter and Gloria disrobing the teenager, and heard Klein bustling around the room.

After a few minutes, the door opened. Bernie poked his head out. "Clark?"

"Yes?"

"We could use your help."

Clark stepped in. Already Miranda had an intravenous line placed, and drapes had been placed to cover her body except for her abdomen. She was truly unconscious now, not restlessly tossing in a fever delirium. Clark realized that Klein must have given her some sort of medication – the morphine bottle on the counter, along with a used syringe, supported his assumption.

Klein was holding up a plastic tube. "I'm going to put in the breathing tube. We need you to look at her and make sure the tube is in her trachea and not her esophagus."

Klein was certainly quick to take advantage of his abilities, Clark thought. On the other hand, he'd said he wanted to help. "OK."

Clark made sure that Miranda was intubated properly. He stood around awkwardly as Klein bustled around, assigning Peter the job of keeping an eye on Miranda's vital signs, and having Gloria disinfect Miranda's skin in a very particular fashion. Klein scrubbed his hands, put on a surgical gown and gloves in a ritualized way, and opened the surgical pack. He put more drapes over Miranda, leaving only a swathe of abdominal skin uncovered.

Klein pulled out a scalpel. His voice was steady as he said, "Surgery is commencing." Or did Clark imagine he heard the voice trembling, just a little? Klein held Miranda's skin taut with one hand. With the other, he made a long smooth incision. Blood oozed up.

Clark smelled the blood. He flashed back to his parents' constant fear – _you're an alien, don't tell anyone who you are or what you can do, or you'll end up dissected in a lab somewhere. _He thought about the Kryptonian invasion of Earth, and how the few survivors had good reason to hate and fear him. He remembered being trapped in kryptonite handcuffs, waiting for Martha to amputate his fingers so he could escape, remembered being doubtful about what she would do, bracing himself for the blow. And he remembered the smell of blood and the pain as the hatchet came down on his hands, chopping off his fingers, the metallic taste in the air as the blood rushed out, dripping down his mutilated hands.

If it hadn't been for their situation at the time, if it had been Lex on the other end of the hatchet, if Rojas and Baker had had their way, if Clark hadn't been able to make a deal with the leaders of the Resistance, would he be facing the scalpels right now?

The coppery taint of blood filled the air. By using super-speed, Clark managed to make it outdoors before he vomited.


	17. Chapter 17

He stood there a long time, soaking up the sunlight, not listening to anything – any noises at all – from the building behind him. The afternoon sun slowly westered down the horizon, the twilight sky ablaze with color. Despite his deliberate avoidance, he couldn't help but hear the door open. And he couldn't avoid hearing Martha approaching him.

"The surgery went well," she said softly.

Clark nodded.

Martha stood by him, respecting his silence.

After a minute, Clark said neutrally, "You were awfully chummy with someone who was holding a gun to your head." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Martha shrugged. "Well, as they say, no harm, no foul."

Clark chuckled unwillingly.

She went on. "I think….it just surprised her, Clark. When you vanished like that, when…." _When she realized you were Kryptonian, _he filled in. "Gloria got scared, and well….I think she hadn't really thought it out. When she got a minute to think about it….um, when you came back and started pointing out the holes in her plan….

"Yeah," he said roughly.

"She wasn't thinking. She was just reacting." Martha shrugged. "She did let me go, though. And thank you for keeping so calm, and talking her down."

Clark shrugged.

"What really tipped the balance," Martha said musingly, "was when you said 'please'." Unspoken between them was the thought: _Because Zod never said 'please'. He ordered. He demanded. And he punished. _

"Three cheers for etiquette, then." Clark sighed.

They stood for a long moment, watching the stars. She surprised him, then, by moving next to him and putting her hand lightly on his forearm. Her touch was warm, and Clark found himself standing perfectly still, not wanting to do anything that would make her take her hand away. No one touched him. No one.

"I'm so tired," he blurted out the words suddenly. "So tired of everyone thinking I'm going to hurt them. Looking at me like that, all suspicious and afraid. Or else they keep their faces really blank. Nobody smiles at me. They never smile." He couldn't believe he was saying these things, just letting down his barriers and spilling everything. Martha squeezed his arm gently.

"And I'm tired of conversations that end when I come in the room. And nobody really talks to me…..I'll say something like, "Nice day, isn't it?" just to get conversation going, and they'll just agree and scurry away…."

He wiped his free hand across his eyes, scrubbing at the sudden rush of moisture. "And some people won't even meet my eyes…." Clark drew in a long choking breath. "That's why I liked coming here, because I thought you'd told them, and they didn't care, or they were just so happy to get regular visits from Metropolis…."

"Plus the _Daily Planet_," Martha added. "Don't forget the _Daily Planet._"

Clark gave a wavering smile. "Yeah, the _Daily Planet._ That should be enough for anyone." He took a deep breath. "But I guess it wasn't…..you hadn't…...I'm just tired, Martha."

She took her hand from his arm. Where she had touched still felt warm. "Yes. I understand."

He looked at Martha curiously and saw something in her eyes that reassured him that she did, indeed, understand.

Her voice was quiet in the night. "Sometimes you feel like you can't go on. And you have to. But, Clark, before I start spouting platitudes here, think one thing. There's a girl here that's going to live. And she would have died if you hadn't used your abilities. So even with everything else, think about it. You saved a life tonight."

He was silent. Then he nodded his head once.

Martha left him then, going back indoors, to check on the patient or to talk with Gloria, he had no idea. Clark stood for a long time outside, just gazing at the stars.

* * *

He went inside after an hour or so. Unsurprisingly, Gloria met him at the door. There was a new wariness in her eyes – new for Gloria. It was all too familiar to Clark.

"Is Miranda doing OK?" he asked, pre-empting anything she might say.

"Yes."

"Can I see her?"

A momentary flicker of surprise. Why? Did Gloria assume that he wouldn't ask, that he would just do what he wanted? Guilt flared through Clark as he realized that was precisely what the other Kryptonians had done.

Her voice was cool and collected as she answered. "Certainly. In fact, Dr. Klein has asked that you talk to him as well."

"OK."

Gloria gestured toward the stairs. He thought about saying, "After you," but decided against it. There were already numerous people who didn't like him behind them. Gloria, it seemed, was just one more of that crowd. In fact, as she followed Clark, her heartbeat seemed a little faster and louder than he would expect from just climbing three flights of stairs.

He shrugged. That was how things were. He'd achieved some measure of calm out there in the night. He could go on another day.

They entered the makeshift surgery room. Someone had brought up a bed and laid Miranda in it. Martha and Klein sat in one end of the darkened room, engaged in quiet conversation. Miranda's father, Peter, sat by the head of the bed, slumped and snoring in his chair.

Klein stood up to greet Clark. Had Clark just been whining about nobody smiling at him? he asked himself. The older man met Clark with a wide smile. Clark involuntarily smiled back.

"Clark! Martha has been telling me about your abilities. Now, I need you…" he took Clark casually by the arm and led him by Miranda's bed. "I think Miranda is doing well – her vital signs are all good, she's resting comfortably, her temperature is coming down – but since you're here, I want you to look." Klein was practically rubbing his hands in anticipation.

"Look?" Clark parroted stupidly.

"Well, you can see through things, right?" Klein said matter-of-factly. He bustled around, feeling for a pulse at Miranda's wrist and timing it against his watch.

"Well….yeah….but I don't use it….um, I mean that I respect people's privacy…."

"That's OK, I'm her doctor, I need you to look." Klein had a positive tone.

Clark thought about it a minute and shrugged. "OK." He squinted, the layers dissolving away as Bernie prattled on.

"Check the surgery site – is there any bleeding or leaking? How do the surrounding tissues look? Are they more or less red than they were before the surgery? Do you see the omentum wrapping around the site? Are any organs twisted on their mesenteric attachments? How are the gall bladder and the bile duct? What color is the liver? Tell me about the pancreas – does it look inflamed?"

"Whoa, wait a minute," Clark protested. "I don't know half of what you're saying."

"What?" Klein looked surprised. "You have this tremendous gift and you haven't used it to learn the normal? How are you supposed to know the abnormal unless you know the normal? You should know normal anatomy by now."

Clark felt obscurely guilty. Of course, Bernie didn't understand the circumstances. In the other world, Clark hadn't exactly been able to say, _Hi, I'm your friendly neighborhood Kryptonian. Would you mind holding still so I can get a good look at your pancreas? _

Bernie went on. "When I was at the university, I had X-ray. I had CT scanning. I had MRI. I would have given my right arm to just look and see. Like you can." His voice trailed off. "I had to make a request three days in advance….they took obscene amounts out of my budget…."

"Bernie!" Clark said loudly.

"What?" said the scientist, his grumbling interrupted.

Clark gestured at the sleeping Miranda. "As far as I can tell, everything looks OK."

"Oh." Bernie took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt, not meeting Clark's gaze. "Good."

Clark felt a little ashamed. Bernie was the one person who actually _had _smiled when he saw the Kryptonian coming, and now Clark was being rude to him. He'd already learned that Klein's natural state – at least when fascinated by something – was rapid chatter. For cripes sake, thought Clark, the man talked faster than Lois Lane. And that was saying something.

So Clark said questioningly, "The university?"

Klein perked up. "Oh yes. I did all my experimental surgeries on the dogs and the rats. Most of it was the neurosurgery, of course, but one research dog got a bowel intussusception and another one had a spleen tumor. They wanted to euthanize them – " here Klein looked indignant – "but I told them no. I could handle it. After all, I did neurosurgery on rats where I spent the whole time looking through a microscope. I could certainly handle a simple bowel resection and anastomosis." His face softened. "Besides, they were the nicest Beagles. Pogner always stood so well for the blood draws…."

Clark thought about it for a minute. "So you worked in the research lab?" Of course. It made sense. Klein saw him as a special new laboratory animal. Just his luck. Then another thought came to Clark. "Have you actually done surgery on people before?" he blurted out.

Klein looked away again and started polishing his glasses harder. He lowered his voice. "Um….well, no." He shot Clark a glance out of the corner of his eye. "That's why I'm um, so interested in knowing how Miranda is doing."

Clark heard the anxiety underneath the confident façade. The man wanted to know if he'd done it right. Because, if he'd done it wrong, Miranda would probably die. Doing nothing was easy. Doing something, and taking the risk and responsibility of it going wrong, was harder. Clark knew that finger-clenching, stomach-turning anxiety well. He felt a sudden rush of camaraderie for the nervous surgeon. In his own Smallville, he'd saved Chloe, Lana, his mother, his father, Pete, and so many other people – often just in the nick of time. Sometimes he was left shaking with the reaction – _if I'd just been a second too late…If I'd done something else…if everything hadn't gone just right… _

"Oh." Clark turned and looked at Miranda again. This time, he scanned her deeply and thoroughly. He saw the careful sutures in the bowel where the appendix had been removed. He checked each thin layer, each membrane for soundness. He lost himself in the sound of the rush of blood through Miranda's veins. He slowly pulled back his vision. "Bernie, she looks good to me." He put as much sincerity and honesty as he could into the words.

Klein sighed. Some of the tension left his shoulders.

"I can come back tomorrow and look again if you want," Clark offered.

"Yes. Please."

They stood awkwardly for a minute. Then Clark said, "Well, I'd better get Martha home."

He went over to where Martha sat talking in a low voice with Gloria. She stood when he approached, and then slowly, Gloria stood too.

"Ready to go, Martha?"

"It's getting late," she agreed. She turned to Gloria. "Thanks for the tomatoes."

"You're welcome."

Martha stared at Clark. But he was damned if he was going to thank someone who had held a gun to the head of his moth- to the head of Martha. "Gloria," he said coolly.

"Clark," she replied, just as coolly.

"Well, goodbye, then," Martha said, taking Clark's arm and attempting to push him along.

"Bernie asked me to come by tomorrow to check on Miranda," Clark informed Gloria.

She couldn't quite conceal the look of chagrin that flashed across her face. But she recovered quickly. "Well, if Bernie wants you, of course." She stared Clark in the eye, not giving an inch. He was willing to bet that she'd go and lambaste Klein later on. Gloria just wanted him out. Away. Far away.

_This was a woman who lived through the Kryptonian invasion of Earth_, Clark thought. Not only that, she'd pulled a small colony of humans through the bad times that followed. He remembered a quote from somewhere: "To understand all is to forgive all."

And so he looked away, giving Gloria her small victory. He acceded to Martha leading him out the door and down the stairs. He waved a cheerful good-bye at the perplexed gate guard, who'd obviously heard the news about Clark's Kryptonian ancestry and seemed to expect to be immolated where he stood. He even laughed as he lifted off, cradling Martha carefully.

"What?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"You didn't seem too happy earlier."

He flew in silence for a moment. "I don't know….Martha, this day was just…just….I don't know, surreal."

She made a chuckling sound but it lacked humor. "I know exactly what you mean."

* * *

I sprinted through the hall, catching a glimpse of the tall figure I sought. Metropolis base had a lot of traffic in the hallways today. "Clark!"

He stopped and let the people flow around him, a stable rock in a roiling stream. "Hey, Martha," he smiled.

"Hay is for horses," I said automatically.

"Ah, I crave a thousand pardons," he said dramatically. He seemed to be channeling D'Artagnan today. Or someone similar. "How may I serve you, milady?"

No one in the halls blinked an eye. It struck me, then, how much I'd become associated with Clark. Everyone knew we went on trips together; everyone knew that he reported to me (and Lex and Chloe, of course.) Everyone knew he was "the Kryptonian", but by now, everyone was used to it.

For a minute, I wished I was like Lois, and could slug him in the arm. On the other hand, I liked my fingers unbroken. So I contented myself with drawing him aside for conversation.

"How's Miranda doing?"

"Coming along nicely." At my pointed look, he elaborated. "They're still giving her clear liquids. Did you know that grape Jell-O somehow managed to survive the total collapse of Western civilization?"

"God, not Jell-O," I moaned dramatically. "Anything but Jell-O." I actually hated Jell-O. I wouldn't have been sorry if all the Jell-O _had _perished in the Collapse.

"Yes, the Jell-O," Clark said portentously. "And they won't let her eat solid food until….um…"

"No solid food until what?"

"How shall I put this delicately?" I could almost see him twirling an imaginary mustache. "Um…until her body recovers….until….Oh, heck, Martha, there's no polite way to say this." He leaned over me and whispered it dramatically. "Until she farts."

I burst out laughing. "You're right. There is no good way to say it."

"Would you like to go with me today?" Now Clark was serious.

"You're still going? It's been three days."

"Bernie keeps on asking me to come. I think he thinks I'm his good-luck charm or something. Or maybe he's just grabbing an opportunity. He's already got some experiments planned where he wants me to take test equipment up to the ionosphere. Something to do with experiments that Nikolai Tesla wanted to do but never got around to doing."

"That sounds like him," I murmured. I could just see Bernie rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of having a Kryptonian at his disposal. I wouldn't mind seeing him again. Even Gloria….we really needed to talk.

But duty called. "Well, I should really do some reading up on case law…" It was true. The last few days had seen an overflow of court cases. As the only person with a law background, I was the judge. (The fact that my fellow denizens had unanimously picked me to exercise the local judicial power was an honor.) I tried to follow the law as much as possible. But sometimes it had to be adjusted to our unique setting. And when I made a ruling that required an adjustment, I always tried to explain it thoroughly to all parties, backing it up with copious examples. Sometimes it called for a lot of research.

"Please, Martha." Clark wasn't kidding. "I go there….it's, ah, _uncomfortable_."

I could imagine.

"Peter never even thanked me for getting all the stuff that let Bernie operate on Miranda." Clark sounded slightly aggrieved.

I shrugged. "Well, Clark, I'm sorry. But you should probably know this by now. No good deed goes unpunished."

"I'm in trouble, then." He smiled ruefully. "Martha, I bring them the _Daily Planet _every day. And I haven't even gotten a single tomato! Not since, you know."

_Since the people that thought you were human found out you were Kryptonian, _I translated. He had tried to keep his voice light, but the subtle plaintive note convinced me.

"So, you only want me to go so that we can get tomatoes?"

"You got me. I'm addicted. To fresh tomatoes. I need my fix." The humor in his voice wobbled a little. "I can't get it without you."

"Well, how can I resist fresh tomatoes?"

"You'll go, then?"

"Let me get my coat."


	18. Chapter 18

Returning to the compound, Martha and Clark entered the impromptu sickroom and saw that Miranda lay quietly and Bernie Klein hovered on the side of the bed. On the other side of the bed was a woman neither had met. As they moved closer, Clark saw that Miranda was asleep.

Bernie came up and greeted them with a smile. "Good to see you again."

"How's Miranda doing?" Martha asked.

"She's coming along," Klein said. "Of course, I'm counting on my daily update from Clark."

Clark squirmed slightly, feeling uncomfortable.

The other woman had been eyeing them carefully. When Bernie confirmed Clark's identity, she stepped forward. "Clark?"

He met her gaze.

"I'm Patricia, Miranda's mother. I don't think we've met."

"Uh, no."

She shook Clark's hand firmly. "I'd like to thank you for everything that you did. You saved Miranda's life. I'm very grateful to you." There was no hint of a tremble in her voice, and no withdrawal from the handshake.

"Uh…." _It was nothing _didn't seem quite appropriate, and neither did _Well, Bernie was the real hero here._ "You're welcome," he blurted out. After an awkward moment, he added, "I'm glad I was able to help."

"Without you, Miranda would have died." Patricia released his hand and looked back at her daughter on the bed. "Now she's going to do fine. I know it." She looked back at Clark. "Thank you. Again."

"Uh….you're welcome." Clark wanted people to appreciate what he could do for them, he really did, but did he have to be so hideously uncomfortable when they thanked him? He wasn't used to that. He was geared up to shrug off scorn and hatred. Gratitude threw him for a loop. He fell back on his mother's training. _Say 'thank you' and smile. That's all you need to do._

The silence grew awkward. Martha, thank heavens, stepped in to smooth over the uncomfortable moment. "Patricia, I wonder if I might talk with you over there?" She pointed to a table and chairs at the far end of the room.

Patricia looked down at her sleeping child. "I guess I can. Bernie, will you keep an eye on Miranda?"

Klein nodded cheerfully, obviously eager to have Clark get an X-ray vision scan going.

The two women hiked to the other end of the large room, Patricia lowering her voice in a futile but socially acceptable attempt to conceal her eager curiosity. "So how did you ever end up working with _him_? Weren't you scared?"

Clark blushed and resolutely directed his hearing away. _La la la….I'm not listening….la la la….I can't hear you…_ With his abilities, it might be hard to avoid hearing a conversation about him carried on in the exact same room, but he was going to try his best. Because he'd learned early on in this world that eavesdroppers never heard good about themselves.

Bernie gestured him to sit down, and took the other chair. "A look?"

Clark focused his special vision on the sleeping girl. The fact that the concentration necessary to do so made him less likely to hear the women's conversation was a bonus. He scanned through the blanket, through Miranda's light pajama top. "Healing seems to be coming along all right," he informed Bernie. In the background, he saw Martha making emphatic gestures as she chatted with Patricia.

Bernie sighed. "I thought she was – she's keeping water down, she's not running a fever – but it's really nice to have you tell me that."

"I'm no doctor!"

"But you have a unique perspective." The older man took off his glasses and polished them nervously. "By the way, we were talking about my next experiment?"

"Yeah, the ionosphere one? What did you want me to do again?" Clark asked obediently. As Bernie prattled on, Clark's mind wandered. He'd come to the conclusion that Klein was a brilliant and original researcher, a meticulous surgeon, a knowledgeable (of theory, at least, if not clinical practice) medical doctor, and an incredibly bored nurse. The man had performed his surgery and dutifully followed up, but the enthusiasm for monitoring Miranda's recovery just wasn't there. The challenge was over and Bernie was restlessly casting about for his next topic of study.

Clark heard a giggle arising from the corner where Patricia and Martha chatted, and couldn't help looking over there. He looked down, blushing, at the stare both older women were giving him. What _was_ Martha saying about him? He resisted the momentary temptation to listen in – that would definitely be dangerous. Besides, if he didn't listen, he could pretend that Martha was negotiating a tomato treaty. Tomato tribute. Fresh tomatoes, daily, in exchange for fresh delivery of today's _Daily Planet. _Yep, that was a good idea. And it wasn't tribute, really. He didn't do tribute. It was the other Kryptonians who did tribute. Clark did fair exchange. He paid for what he got.

Clark turned his mind away from tribute and back to tomatoes. He liked fresh tomatoes. Maybe if Martha _wasn't _negotiating the tomato treaty right now, he could talk to her about it. Maybe he could get her to negotiate it before they left. Martha could negotiate anything. She'd get the best deal for him. Maybe there'd be a clause in the treaty where the weight of the tomatoes would equal the weight of the copy of the _Planet _that he brought. That would be a great deal for Clark on Sundays….

He came back to Earth with a jerk – figuratively, not literally – when Patricia and Martha came back to them. Bernie broke off his long-winded explanation and they both stood up.

"Bernie, keep an eye on Miranda, will you?" Patricia asked. "Martha and I are going to talk to Gloria." Patricia, after talking to Martha, seemed to have no qualms about leaving her precious daughter in the company of the Kryptonian. Of course, Bernie was there. Even so, Clark warmed inside. Plenty of people at Metropolis base wouldn't have left their kids alone with him and another adult. Patricia's expression of trust – after all, she knew who (and what) – he was, gave Clark an unfamiliar good feeling.

"OK, Patricia," Klein said. Clark surmised that Klein wasn't averse to bedside duty when it meant that he could converse with the tame alien, and cajole said alien into his crazy schemes.

But, surprisingly, the older man just took a seat across the bed from Clark and alternated looking at Clark and Miranda. He drummed his fingers on his knee and muttered to himself. Clark decided to wait until Klein spoke.

After ten minutes of this, Bernie finally spoke up. "Clark?"

"Yes?"

"How much can you carry?"

Clark didn't know the answer to that. "Well, um….I've never found something I couldn't lift. Since I got my abilities, you know. Not when I was a kid. Back then, things were heavy." At the other man's raised eyebrows he found himself babbling. "When I was twelve or thirteen, um, that's when I noticed that I got a lot stronger, and um, really, I could probably carry anything if it were packaged correctly. And also it depends on how fast you want it carried. Bigger things I have to carry slower…" he hoped he wouldn't have to get into a big discussion about his aura. He could almost see Bernie setting up a whole new list of experiments on _that._

"Oh, that's good, then," Bernie said absently, and returned to muttering and drumming his fingers. After a few more minutes of this, he leapt up. Clark, startled, stood up too.

"Clark, could you keep an eye on Miranda? I've got some things I want to work on while you're here. Be sure to stop by the lab later," the scientist said, bustling out the door. He didn't wait for Clark's mumbled agreement and in an astonishingly short period of time for someone without super-speed, Bernie was out of sight.

"OK, then," Clark said, and sat back down by the bed. He extended his hearing, and felt soothed by the slow 'lub-dup' of Miranda's heartbeat. Curious, he engaged his deep vision.

Under Miranda's thin nightgown was her surgical incision – Dr. Klein hadn't bothered to be cosmetic. He'd sewn her up with heavy black nylon suture material, and Clark winced at the skin puckering. He'd seen a much more cosmetic closure when his father had had heart bypass surgery. Miranda would have a nasty scar, for sure. Clark looked at the sleeping girl more deeply, checking the closure of the abdominal wall – Dr. Klein had used some sort of purple suture here – and then went deeper still, past the musculature, looking at the abdominal organs.

He sighed as he watched the blood flow through vessels and organs, pushing and ebbing with each heartbeat. Miranda's abdominal cavity seemed much less red and angry. Clark was no expert, but he'd had the advantage of seeing it before surgery, after surgery, and for four days more. It was fascinating. Remembering Dr. Klein's chiding – "You should know normal anatomy by now" – he stared longer, tracing the delicate folds of peritoneal membrane, the throbbing elasticity of the abdominal aorta, the intricate splendors of the innumerable tiny filtering units of the kidneys. He focused deeper, engrossed in the millions of tiny intestinal villi, the tiny projections waving, ready to absorb nutrients.

A change in Miranda's breathing alerted him, snapped him from his almost-hypnotic reverie. She was awake. He pulled back the deep vision, feeling obscurely embarrassed. He met the eyes that stared at him with part curiosity and part wariness.

"Hello," Clark said.

"Who are you?" Her face was closed in.

"I'm Clark Kent."

"Clark Kent?" Miranda relaxed into a smile. "You're Dr. Klein's friend from Metropolis, right? He's talked about you a lot." Then she frowned. "I never got to meet you before. My dad would never let me work in the lab when you were there."

Wow, and that was _before _Peter had known that Clark was a Kryptonian. Clark decided to let that one lay where it had fallen and kept his mouth shut.

"Where is everybody?"

Clark shuffled his feet. "Well, um, Dr. Klein went off to the lab to do something, and your mother is talking with my partner Martha." And Patricia was probably talking about him. Reminded of Martha, he debated with himself. Did he want to keep a metaphorical eye – or ear – on her? Should he extend his hearing? Definitely not. Martha wasn't in any danger here. Probably. Of course, the last time she was here, she'd had a shotgun pulled on her, but everything was all right now. Sure.

Miranda interrupted his ruminations. "Let me guess. Dr. Klein had something in the lab that just couldn't wait."

Clark smiled. "You know him pretty well."

"He teaches. Well, some of us. The other adults do more teaching. Dr. Klein isn't really all that good of a teacher," Miranda confided.

"Let me guess. He goes off on odd tangents. He doesn't explain things well because it's so obvious to him in his head that he doesn't understand how other people wouldn't understand it."

Miranda giggled. "You know him too." She squirmed in the bed and grunted in pain.

"Are you all right?"

"It hurts a little…Mr. Kent, do you – "

"Clark. Call me Clark. When I hear "Mr. Kent", I start looking around for my father." He gave her a big smile.

"Oh. Um…" Miranda blushed.

Clark got an idea of what she wanted. "Do you want me to help you sit up?" Of course she couldn't enjoy lying flat in her bed, looking up and over at Clark to maintain a conversation. And Clark remembered how his own father had been pretty sore after his own surgery. And that was with experienced surgeons.

"Um, yes, please."

He saw several pillows on the floor, near the head of the bed. "If I…if you're OK…"

He loomed over her, moving his hands slowly toward her sides, giving her plenty of time to say no. He'd gotten into the habit of moving slowly around petite females. Dealing with this world's Martha had ingrained that. "I'll just, um, put my hands here, and lift you right up…." Clark awkwardly grasped her underneath the armpits, taking a firm grip on her body and quickly lifting her into a sitting position. She gave a tiny gasp, quickly cut off, and he heard her heartbeat go faster. She felt very warm. She was so small that his hands almost met each other along her back. Clark blushed and quickly grabbed a few pillows, propping them behind her back. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." At his questioning look, Miranda admitted, "It still hurts to sit up or stand up. But thanks for helping me." Her pulse had slowed. Clark realized he was still looming over her and that she had to look up at him. Martha had pointed out to him how threatening that appeared, if you were the person being loomed over, so he moved out of her space and sat down.

"Clark? Could I ask you one more favor?"

"Sure."

"There's a bag over there – can you give it to me?"

"Sure." He passed it to her and she pulled a brush out of the bag.

"Um, could you give me a minute?"

"Sure." Clark felt like an automaton, just repeating the word. He got up and headed to the bathroom. Five minutes ought to be enough.

When he returned, Miranda had pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. She'd brushed out her hair – Clark rather thought that he'd heard her mutter something about _bed head_ – and had actually (and rather inexpertly) put on some makeup. Clark almost fell over when he realized that she was trying to look good _for him. _

He felt a rush of affection, and nostalgia. Time had passed, and he wasn't so clueless in the romance department anymore. But he still remembered the anxiety of meeting a member of the opposite sex, being worried about how you looked, and wanting them to like you.

Miranda seemed so young, though, hovering on the cusp of adulthood. Clark wondered if he'd ever been that young and innocent. He rather thought not. Concealing his secret had taken away some of his innocence. Although there was no denying he was still severely naïve in many ways.

"Do you want anything else?" Clark asked her, sitting down. "Can I put that away for you?" indicating the bag.

"Yeah, could you put it over there?" Miranda said, gesturing toward the table where he'd gotten it from.

Clark did so, and sat back down. He wondered what he was going to say.

Miranda saved him the effort. "So, Clark, what do you do?" She was channeling Gloria Doing Small Talk here, Clark could tell.

"Anything and everything, really, Miranda." He wondered how long he could not tell her his secret. Actually, it wasn't a secret in this world. And it wasn't as if the other members of Gloria's colony wouldn't tell her. It was just, darn it, it felt good to have an actual conversation. Which it looked like they were going to do. "Um, I travel around, trying to do what has to be done, solve problems, help people. The usual. What do _you _do?"

"Well, we have school in the mornings, and we work on the crops, and I help out in Dr. Klein's lab." She giggled. "He's teaching me calculus. I think I've got a ways to go before I can look at the problem and solve it, like he does, though."

Clark chuckled. He'd found that he could do that when he went through his calculus textbook. His parents had congratulated him, and then had reminded him of the necessity of keeping it a secret.

"Have you been outdoors?" he asked.

A somber look crossed her face. "Not for three years. Mom said it was like _The Diary of Anne Frank,_ you know, we were in hiding. And then Gloria said that now that the Kryptonians are dead, we can do anything. But it's more the adults who have been out. They're still keeping the kids inside"

Difficult for Miranda, Clark deduced, on the verge of adulthood, to be considered as _one of the kids._ On the other hand, Clark understood exactly why Miranda and the others were isolated and protected. It was a tough new world out there. Even the old world had had plenty of traps and pitfalls for teenage girls.

"What's it like out there?" Miranda sounded wistful.

Clark hardly knew where to start. "Well, it was very cold for awhile, but, um, we fixed that, and then it was rainy and now the weather might be settling down to normal." The weather. That was always a safe topic.

Miranda, of course, zoomed in on the most awkward part. "'We fixed it?' What do you mean by that?"

Clark sighed. "Well, the Kryptonians had a Fortress up in the Arctic that was controlling the weather. And, um, the Resistance went there and um, took care of things."

"'Took care of things?'" Gosh, this kid was worse than Reporter Chloe in his own world. She had curiosity that wouldn't quit.

"I don't want to go into the details…" Clark _wouldn't._ He _wouldn't_ tell her about the fighting and the lives lost and the wounded, some of whom hadn't fully healed months later. "But, um, the Kryptonians were, um, defeated, and the Fortress re-programmed so we have normal Earth weather now."

"Wow!" She fixed him with a gimlet eye. "Were you there?" How'd she guess that?

"Uh….yes. I fought alongside the Resistance." Clark was getting very uncomfortable now.

"How'd you ever defeat the Kryptonians? The grownups wouldn't let us watch TV but I heard them talking…."

"Let's just say that the Resistance fighters had unique gifts." And that was true. Idly Clark wondered if Miranda were a normal human, like Martha. Most regular humans had died. Chloe and Lex considered themselves metahuman – they would not have survived without their special abilities. Miranda _seemed _fully human, he thought. Of course, Gloria had managed to protect her little colony through three years of Kryptonian domination. A wildlife sanctuary for the non-meta.

He smiled at her to take the sting from his words. "You're awfully nosy."

"You try being locked up for years," Miranda promptly retorted. "You're the first new person I've seen since…before." She didn't have to define _before._ Everyone left alive on Earth knew what that meant.

"Well, I hope you'll get to talk with my partner before we leave."

"Your partner is Martha, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"You said it earlier. And, _duh, _like we're not going to talk about visitors?" Miranda took a second for the barb to penetrate, then asked, "What's she like?"

"Martha? Well, she's….she's…..she's good company." Clark hardly knew what to say. _She's my mother in a parallel universe? She's a senator over there and basically a Supreme Court justice over here? She's one of the toughest and smartest women I know? She's a survivor? _"Um, we go out to lunch together every Thursday afternoon. Usually we go with her friend Perry White. He's the editor of the _Daily Planet._"

"The _Planet_? Wow, my dad really misses that. He was always whining about not having a newspaper to read in the morning." Miranda sounded disgusted. "Of course, lately, you've been bringing it, right?"

"Right. Um, hey, once you've got the newspaper bug…." Clark defended his job. "I'm a _Daily Planet _reporter_._" Strange how that made him feel so proud. "In fact, I have a copy right here." He got up, went to his jacket and rummaged in the inside pocket. He'd slipped today's edition in there before they'd left Metropolis. He handed it to Miranda.

She opened it, looked at the headlines with interest. _"Refinery Repair Delayed….President Luthor Proposes New Budget….From Paris to Metropolis – Kal-El Brings Frenchman to Kansas…._Hey! Your name is on a lot of these articles."

"I _told_ you I was a _Planet _reporter."

Miranda didn't answer, engrossed in the newspaper. Clark leaned back and smiled. It was kind of fun to see someone so intent on his work.

She read steadily for several minutes. Of course, thought Clark, if it had been a pre-alien-invasion _Planet_, it would have kept her busy a lot longer. The _Planet _reportorial staff, and the _Planet_ itself, were thin shadows of what they had been. The joke about the old Sunday _Planet _was that you shouldn't fall asleep reading it in bed, because it was so thick and heavy it might crush you.

She set down the paper. "Thank you. Now I know why my dad misses it." Clark smiled at her and she returned it. "By the way, who is Kal-El? You've sure written a lot of stories about him and what he's doing."

"He's….he's…." Should he just blurt out, _He's me_? "He's a Kryptonian."

Miranda's eyes widened. "I thought the Kryptonians were dead." Well, that was blunt.

"The _bad _Kryptonians are. Kal-El is a _good _Kryptonian."

"Oh." She looked as if she were chewing on an especially tough slice of beef jerky. Clark wished they hadn't touched on this topic. "Is that why he's in the paper?"

"Well, um, my editor feels that his actions are newsworthy." Somewhat to Clark's dismay. He'd argued with Perry about it, but Perry had defeated his objections handily. Even Clark couldn't deny that _some _of what he did (he thought Perry included way too much in that _some_) was grist for the _Planet _mill. He'd done what he could to separate "Clark Kent" from "Kal-El" when he wrote about himself, by always referring to his Kryptonian identity in the third person. Of course, the fact that Clark Kent was Kal-El was an open secret.

"Does he take you along with him? I mean, like, did you go to France with him when he brought over this French survivor?" Miranda asked, putting her finger on one of the front-page articles.

Clark remembered. He'd been hovering over Paris, and had heard a lonely heartbeat amidst the desolation of the City of Light. He'd landed a distance away and walked up to an emaciated Pierre. Pierre had been starved and lonely, and had greeted Clark with amazement and relief. When Clark had revealed his identity as a Kryptonian, Pierre hadn't tried running away. He didn't care anymore, he said – at this point, dying in the ruins of Paris or being killed by heat vision was all the same to him. (Although he _had _screamed and struggled when Clark lifted off.)

Clark still remembered the astonished look on the Frenchman's face when they landed at Metropolis base and Pierre realized he was still alive. He'd had enough English to settle in nicely, and Clark had discovered a heretofore hidden talent for languages. Clark found that Pierre had only to talk at him in French for a short time before Clark spoke it like a native. Two weeks later, he had given Clark an interview. For their parts, Lex and Chloe were interested in how Pierre had survived the plagues and the endless winter.

"You might say that," Clark replied cautiously. Should he tell her now? Ah, why not? She'd find out soon enough already. "Actually, I _am_ Kal-El." As stunning declarations it was far behind the drama of the _Star Wars _"Luke, I am your father" that Clark had always had a secret liking for. On the other hand, that was just a movie. This was real life.

Clark could tell the minute Miranda got it. She actually _eeked_. She pulled the sheet up higher and hunched her arms over her chest.

Clark didn't stir, staying still in his chair, not moving a muscle. He kept a calm smile on his lips, deliberately holding her gaze. He thought back to when Chloe – the Chloe of his world – had been in a hospital bed and he'd confessed his secret. She'd responded with confusion, disbelief, and finally amazement. She had never feared him. Clark sighed inwardly. Chloe's reaction was unusual. One day he'd like to reveal his identity to someone and not have them fear him. Of course, the Kryptonian invasion on this world had made that an idle fancy.

After a minute, realizing that Clark wasn't about to leap on her and tear her limb from limb, or fry her in her bed, Miranda relaxed slightly. Clark carefully maintained his still posture and non-threatening position. Martha had favored him with a critique and one of the things she'd gotten on him about was his tendency to come closer to people in an attempt to convince them. They, of course, perceived this as a threat.

He widened his smile slightly and after a minute saw Miranda smile back, just a little. "Does…" her voice squeaked before she swallowed and started over. "Does Gloria know?"

"I thought she did," Clark said ruefully, "but it turns out she only found out four days ago."

"She _hates_ Kryptonians," Miranda announced, with the impolitic innocence of youth.

"I know. I haven't gotten a single tomato from her in four days."

Miranda burst out laughing, and Clark began laughing with her. Then they were all right.

"Why four days ago?"

"Well…" and Clark began explaining the circumstances surrounding her surgery. He decided not to tell her that Bernie had asked him to X-ray her guts on a regular basis. That might be pushing the bonds of this sudden friendship just a little too far. He also thought it might be better if Miranda didn't know that her surgeon had only worked on dogs and rats up to this point. There was such a thing as too much information.

Miranda reacted to his tale with a serious mien and then a careful smile. "So if you did all that for me, I guess I should say thank you. So thank you."

Clark shrugged. "You're welcome."

Her mind already racing, Miranda's look turned inward. "So you flew there?"

"Yep."

"You really can fly?" The suppressed longing in her tone gave Clark the clue. He didn't bother replying in words. Instead, he levitated, rising twelve inches from the seat of his chair.

"Wow!" This time Miranda's voice had awed incredulity.

Clark settled back down.

"I saw the other…the other ones on TV a little bit," Miranda offered hesitantly, "but it's really different seeing it close up."

"It's different doing it close up, too."

"What?"

"I couldn't fly till a few months ago."

Miranda didn't say anything, but her entire body screamed _question._

Clark wondered how much of his life story to tell. Talking about his powers and his politics (i.e., being the human-friendly Kryptonian) tended to get bogged down in the long discussion of his background and upbringing. "Long story short – I was sent here from Krypton as a baby, and adopted and raised by humans. Flying was as much a surprise to me as it was to them." Well, that was mostly true.

Miranda reminded him so much of Reporter Chloe of his world, Clark wanted to laugh. She had that same expression of _There are so many things to pursue in that statement, which should I go after first? _ Chloe got that too when she was on the trail of a particularly good story and for a minute, Clark felt a painful spear of homesickness. God, if only he could go back to his own world and live his quiet life on the undestroyed Kent Farm. Resolutely he pulled his attention back to the girl in the bed before him.

"Raised by humans?"

"Yeah." Should he tell her about Martha? No, right now he didn't feel like getting into the discussion of parallel worlds and all that. "I grew up in Smallville." Did she know that this world's Smallville was a heat-fused, sterile, glassy moonscape? Apparently not, by her expression.

"Smallville? That's right next door. Well, it's in Kansas, anyway," Miranda said.

"Yes."

Miranda thought for a minute. "So, if you were raised by humans and you're Kal-El….that's why you said that Kal-El was the good Kryptonian."

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have known you were Kryptonian," she said shyly, "if you hadn't told me. The other ones, when I saw them on TV, they were all like, 'Kneel before Zod' and 'Bow down' and stuff like that."

"That is _so_ not me," Clark said vehemently.

"They were flying around, and you know, doing world-conquering things."

Clark chuckled. "I'd much rather get a copy of the Daily Planet and fly it here in exchange for a tomato."

Miranda laughed too, and the tension that had built up dissolved again.

"Clark?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Can I see you fly again? That was _so _cool." Clark studied the girl. She had leaned forward, the sheet had dropped to her waist, and her eyes were wide with anticipation.

"Sure." He levitated again, this time drifting a little further away from the chair and her bed. She smiled and he felt an odd tinge of happiness at the sight. Then she frowned. She hugged her abdomen and whimpered.

_Author's note I'd like to extend a very belated thank-you and sincere appreciation to Artemis for the beta work. Artemis, you made me use verbs! Thanks. _


	19. Chapter 19

When Clark saw Miranda bend over in pain, he immediately touched down, setting both feet firmly on the floor. "Miranda! Are you all right?" he asked in sudden concern, hastening over to her.

"I have to go…." Miranda said, clutching herself. She looked over to the washroom.

"Are you in pain?" Clark was aghast. What was he thinking, letting himself be the only adult on bedside duty and not having a plan? There wasn't a button to press that would call a trained nurse, like the time when Jonathan Kent had had his heart bypass. He _could _speed upstairs and get Bernie, of course, but right now he really didn't want to leave Miranda, not even for a few seconds.

"Can you help me get up?" she asked in a small voice.

Clark latched on to a thought. Maybe it would distract her. Besides, from the way she was acting, he couldn't let her stagger over to the bathroom, even with his support. "How about I fly you over there?"

That succeeded in distracting her. "Really?" she breathed.

"Scout's honor."

"Okay."

Martha's lessons came back to Clark. "I'll come over and scoop you up, OK? And then we'll fly."

"Across the room."

"If you want to go flying outside later on when you're healed, I'll take you." At Miranda's incredulous and then eager expression, Clark hastily added, "If it's OK with your parents."

That definitely distracted her, for when Clark leaned over her, lowered the sheet, and carefully maneuvered his arm under her knees, she didn't say anything. Though when he worked his other arm around her shoulders, she cried out a little bit. Clark looked down and saw he had inadvertently bent her at the waist too much and her tender abdominal muscles were protesting.

Suddenly a stunning blow hit him from behind. Caught by surprise, his arms opened, dumping Miranda back on the bed. He staggered and fell – whoever it was had tackled him expertly. _What?_ Blows continued to fall, pushing him farther away. After a confused minute, Clark recognized his assailant as Peter, Miranda's father.

"Get away from her, you…!" Peter kept on pummeling Clark's torso as Clark, caught off guard, tried to sit up, unsuccessfully. Behind Peter, at the door, he saw Dr. Klein, eyes wide, hastening toward them.

"I saw you attacking her, you….!" Peter began cursing him hotly.

Oh God. Peter had seen him leaning over to pick up Miranda and had immediately assumed the worst. _Of course_ he would come in at just that minute. Now Clark was being pummeled by an angry father. It would be ludicrous if it weren't so sad.

The blows didn't hurt, really. In fact, Clark thought with a tinge of bitter amusement, Peter was more at risk for damaging himself.

But it was the whole attitude. The whole 'You're a Kryptonian, therefore you're bad'. No trial. Just judgment. A rush of anger washed through Clark. That was it. He was tired of apologizing. He was going to be what he was, darn it, and let his actions speak for himself.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Miranda screamed from the bed. Clark saw her try to stand up. "He wasn't hurting me!"

Peter's head whipped around to Miranda, and for a minute he stopped punching Clark. Clark took advantage of the respite, letting time slow around him. He grasped the other man's arms in an iron grip. Letting time speed back to normal, he stared straight into Peter's eyes as he levitated them slowly back into a vertical position.

Klein pulled up, desisting from his obvious intention of breaking up the fight. Clark heard another person enter the room behind him and recognized her as Patricia, Miranda's mother. The look of betrayal in her eyes stunned him. _I trusted you_, it said. _And now look what you've done._

Clark slowly floated down, making his feet land on the floor with an audible thump. Then, carefully, he set Peter down. He released his grip on Peter's arms. "I didn't hurt her. I haven't hurt her. And I won't hurt her." He said it coolly and quietly, but with great force.

The other man looked away for a minute. Then Patricia came running up to him, and Dr. Klein came too, and so did Miranda, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. Everyone began shouting, except for Clark. He just remained silent as Patricia hugged her husband and daughter (with an air of relief that made him wonder how much Patricia _really_ trusted him, fine words aside) while at the same time demanding explanations and chiding Miranda for being out of bed. Peter tried to explain his actions to an obviously offended Klein (who also directed recriminations at Miranda for getting out of bed), and Miranda told everyone in earshot that Clark _hadn't _hurt her, no, he was just going to pick her up so that she could fly, did you hear that, fly, to the bathroom, because she had to go really bad and she needed help getting out of bed.

Clark stood back from the quarreling foursome and tuned them out. They all seemed a little nervous about yelling at him, focusing instead on each other. Clark extended his hearing toward Martha – what was she doing? It was definitely time to leave. Or at least get Martha here to talk with everyone and smooth things over in that way she was so good at. Yes, she'd paper over the cracks, and pour oil on the troubled waters.

Martha seemed to be climbing the stairs back to the room Clark was in, so that was good. It seemed to the stairs at the other end of the building, not the set Clark had come up. Gloria was with her. Clark could hear their steady climbing on the treads. Suddenly Martha gasped, "No!"

Oh, great. Not only had Clark inadvertently caused a diplomatic incident, now Martha needed rescuing. Had Gloria pulled another shotgun on her? He still didn't trust Gloria – or rather, he trusted her about as much as she trusted him. Based on Martha's hammering heartbeat, however, his partner needed rescuing. Clark let time slow around him again and sped off to the stairs.

She was only up one flight of stairs, waiting on the landing. He should speed to her, come up next to her and evaluate the situation – Gloria had her pistol, but wasn't carrying the shotgun. Was she pointing the pistol at Martha? He hadn't heard gunfire, but Gloria had threatened before….Uncomfortable scenarios whizzed through Clark's head as he ran down the stairs.

And then time sped up alarmingly, and the pain came, and Clark stumbled and fell and tumbled down the last few steps to land at Gloria's feet. She flinched back at the sudden appearance of writhing Kryptonian. Quickly, she drew her pistol and assumed a shooting position, aiming at him. Clark really hoped she wouldn't shoot, because he was vulnerable. He'd felt that particular pain way too often. He rolled onto his back, and saw the reason – a large meteor rock, glowing virulent green, fastened above the door that led to the other side of the building.

"Don't shoot!" Martha called out urgently. Clark gasped for breath, fighting the waves of pain that rolled over him. Martha stood above him, facing Gloria, who maintained her shooting position for an uncomfortably long period of time. Finally, she pointed her handgun at the floor, but kept it in her hand. Clark could see the little red spot near the lock that indicated the safety was off.

Kryptonite. Great. They'd picked up Kryptonite. They must have made a special trip to Lowell County to get some. Just for him, obviously. Not for the first time, Clark reflected that it really sucked to live in a world where everyone knew his weakness.

"What is this?" Gloria asked.

"Please." Clark directed that to Martha. He already knew he wouldn't get sympathy from Gloria. His eyes flickered up to the kryptonite. He had to get away. Martha bit her lip, looked at Gloria's unyielding gaze. She was too short to reach the kryptonite and Gloria certainly wouldn't help her.

Martha took a deep breath. She took his hand, then changed her mind and clasped him around the wrist. "Clark, if I can get you to the stairs, can you go down the steps?" Her words floated by in a fever delirium. This was a big piece of meteor rock. He grabbed on to the last few words and choked out a "Yes."

Martha pulled him slowly to the edge of the downward stairs. Gloria stood like an angel at the Gates of Paradise, holding a flaming sword, barring entrance to the stairs upward and to the other side of the building. She made no move to help Martha, who strained and sweated at the effort of moving Clark's bulk. As the distance between him and the poison diminished, his bones felt less like water. She got him to the next landing down toward the front door and he was actually able to sit up.

"Can you stand?" Martha asked him quietly.

Clark took an inventory. "No."

They looked at each other, and Clark shrugged. He bumped his way down the stairs, sitting down like a toddler. Martha followed him. He'd gotten about two-thirds of the way down when his weakness abated. He stood, a little wobbly at first, then got his balance and walked the rest of the way down.

Martha led him into the ground-floor kitchen where they'd met Gloria so many months ago. She gestured for him to sit at the table. She rummaged around the cupboards and pulled out tea mugs and a teapot.

* * *

I hated Gloria. The last few minutes had been the usual bewildering mess-up of events that tended to occur when Clark was involved, but I knew that I hated Gloria.

Patricia had taken me to the kitchen where we'd had some tea. Gloria had come in and had listened, not speaking herself, to my tales of partnership with Clark. Patricia had left us, and Gloria and I made uncomfortable conversation for a few minutes before I mentioned that I wanted to go back to Clark. Gloria had nodded and had escorted me out, and up a set of stairs that we didn't usually use.

I saw the kryptonite, hung above the second-floor door like some bizarre parody of mistletoe. The implications crashed through my head and I'd said, "No!" Then there was a whoosh, and a crash, and Clark was lying at my feet, writhing. The big oaf. Mixed feelings arose. He must have been keeping an ear out for me – why else would he have come at my exclamation? He probably didn't trust Gloria either. I felt warm that he came when he thought I was in trouble. Except that it was creepy to think that he was listening to me when he was a building away.

And Gloria, standing there, not helping me with Clark – and he was heavy. It was either help him or leave him lying there writhing at the kryptonite exposure. I needed him to get back to Metropolis, so I helped him. I hated Gloria.

I hated Gloria because she was like me.

She didn't trust Clark. Down deep, I still had doubts. Being around Clark had soothed me, softened me. Was I still the same Martha? Could I be strong? No, I had been broken. Gloria had never been broken. She was strong enough to be rude to Clark openly. I wasn't. Did I really want to be rude to him, though? After all, he was nice. And he'd more than lived up to his side of the bargain.

But he was Kryptonian. There was no denying that.

Except now I'd bought into his side. I was his partner on these trips. Was I a collaborator?

I pushed all these thoughts downward into a dark hole. I rummaged through the cupboards and brought out mugs and took the teapot off the drain board. I filled the pot with water and set it down in front of Clark. Gloria came strolling in. From Clark's lack of reaction, she was kryptonite-free.

"Heat this up for me, Clark," I said, shooting Gloria a challenging glare. _You don't like Kryptonians? Well, he's going to use his powers in front of you. Neener neener. _

Clark glanced at Gloria too, before bending his head downward. I saw his eyes take on that unearthly red glow. The water in the teapot boiled in about five seconds.

I went back to the cupboard and pulled out two teabags. Surprisingly, the colony had a decent supply of tea. Food was in short supply (although the situation was improving immensely) and coffee was nowhere to be found (to my infinite sorrow) but tea could be had. Of course, milk and lemon were unheard-of luxuries now. I threw the teabags in the pot to steep, and pulled out another mug. I set it in front of Gloria.

"I don't drink with Kryptonians." A flat statement.

My incredulity at her rudeness was surpassed only by a belated and reluctant admiration for her courage. She had the stomach to be openly rude to a man who could incinerate her where she stood. And I still hated her.

I caught a glimpse of Clark's face. He actually looked wounded for about a half-second, before he smoothed his features into impassivity. "And yet I'm having tea in your kitchen," he said coolly. "Does this mean you'll have to break the teapot later on?"

She considered it. "I think we'll be OK with soaking it in boiling water five or six times. We'll probably break the mug, though."

My jaw dropped. She was serious.

At this Clark actually rolled his eyes. He looked at me and winked. I figured it was one of those 'either you laugh or you cry' situations, and Clark had decided to laugh. "I wouldn't," Clark said. "You'll need it for when I come back next week."

Gloria just stared at him.

I poured the tea into Clark's mug and my own. I hoped no one noticed my tiny hand tremors.

Clark took an ostentatious gulp of tea. It was boiling hot. Any normal person – any _human _– would have been burned. "Two questions." He addressed Gloria.

"What?" Gloria responded to a direct question, even from a Kryptonian. Social conditioning? Or had she just decided not to give him the silent treatment?

"Why didn't you just shoot me right there?"

She caressed her empty mug. Her hand stole to her holster. "Hunch," she said laconically.

I wondered if that was actually true. Maybe it was. Or maybe the real reason was that she didn't want to get blood on her favorite pair of pants. Certainly it had nothing to do with the fact that Clark had saved Miranda's life, right?

Clark looked at her, and like me, realized that he wasn't going to get any more explanation of her reasons. He shrugged. "You won't regret it."

Gloria looked sourly at his tea mug. "Oh, I'm sure I will."

"Second question?"

"OK."

"What are you doing with kryp – meteor rock there? Are you _crazy_?" Clark's voice rose.

Gloria stared at him in satisfaction. "They said it would keep you away, and it works."

_Who's 'they', _I wondered. But my thoughts were cut off by Clark's earnest plea.

"Gloria, I grew up in Smallville, around the meteor rock. Have you lived around it?"

"No."

"It's bad for people. The rocks are radioactive. If people are around the rocks too long, they get infected. They….a lot of them go insane."

I frowned. Clark was leaving something out. A lot of the meteor rock-exposed people developed metahuman powers. I'd seen that in Smallville, before Jonathan and I divorced. Of course, they did go insane, too. The _Smallville Ledger _never published anything about the "meteor freaks", but I heard the gossip. The high assault and death rate in the county had contributed to my departure.

"They get powers," Gloria said, echoing my thoughts. "Powers that helped us fight off the likes of you." She knew what Clark wasn't saying.

Clark leaned forward. "But…well, it's true some of them got powers, but Chloe and I figured it out one day – eighty percent of them went bad. _Eighty percent, _Gloria."

She nodded politely, obviously disbelieving. She faced us and told it straight. "I've got children behind those doors. We want them safe." _And far away from any Kryptonian, _was the unspoken but glaringly apparent subtext.

Clark said heatedly, "Gloria, those kids – and not just the kids, every person in this colony – are in more danger from those meteor rocks than they ever were from me. Or ever will be from me."

"Those meteor rocks are at every door and window on that side of the building," Gloria said implacably.

Clark leaned back and sighed. Like me, he could see that argument was futile. He took another large gulp of tea. "All right then. I can still visit this side of the building?" The Last Son of Krypton, negotiating for room rights.

"Bernie likes you." I wondered how much that had to do with Gloria not shooting Clark. Certainly she wanted to keep Klein happy. And having Clark give post-surgical updates had certainly soothed Bernie. "But you're Kryptonian. Miranda's better. You're not welcome here anymore. Not inside."

"What about outside?"

"I can't stop you doing what you're going to do." I marveled at Gloria's rudeness, and her chutzpah.

"You're pretty bold, talking this way to someone who has heat vision," Clark observed idly. His thoughts ran in parallel with mine. There was no threat to his tone, just an implied request for information. But did his eyes glow red, just slightly?

Gloria kept her poker face. "State motto of New Hampshire. I figured it was time for that."

My face betrayed my incomprehension, because Clark chuckled. He actually sounded amused as he said, "'Live free or die.' Except you don't have to worry, Gloria. You know I'm not going to hurt anybody." There was no red in his eyes.

"You're Kryptonian." The flat statement told us her feelings. And wasn't I that way too? Didn't I feel the same way, underneath? Maybe I was just better at hiding it. Maybe I was a coward. Of course, Clark _had _saved my life…

Clark took one more swallow, emptying his mug. "Don't break this mug," he warned Gloria. "Because I'm going to keep coming back. If you don't want me inside, that's fine," he said, tacitly conceding the point. "I'll stay outside. I'll keep trying to convince you that you're wrong."

"Good luck with that," Gloria said calmly.

Clark studied her. "Did you perhaps take stubborn lessons from Jonathan Kent?"

"No." God, it was like she had to pay a hundred dollars for every word she said.

Clark smiled. "I did. So I think I can out-stubborn you."

I caught Gloria's tiny twist of a smile, quickly hidden. "Good luck with that too." And was that a tinge of respect in her voice for a worthy opponent? It was there in Clark's, for sure.

"And you should take down those meteor rocks." Back to seriousness.

"No."

Clark sighed. He stood up, his height and bulk vaguely menacing, as ever. "Well, Gloria, since we've agreed to disagree, I think that I'll check in on Bernie and Miranda, and then be on my way. Martha?"

I hurriedly gulped my tea. Yes, it was probably for the best that I escort him, or that he escort me. That we escort each other. Gloria might politely be called trigger-happy, and if we ran into more kryptonite, Clark needed a human to clear it.

We walked up the flights of stairs, each engrossed in our own thoughts. As Gloria had said, there was no kryptonite on this side of the building. At least not right now. We knocked at the sickroom door. Patricia opened it.

"Clark!" she said coolly. Then, with concern, she added, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I just wanted to check on Miranda before we left."

"Come in." Patricia ushered us in. No handshakes with Clark this time, I noticed.

They'd gotten Miranda up out of her bed, sitting on a chair. Peter sat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, and Bernie Klein sat scribbling industriously at a table. From his expression when he saw Clark, it looked like Bernie had taken quite a tongue-lashing for leaving Miranda alone with the Big Bad Kryptonian.

"Clark!" Miranda smiled and waved. Peter just stared at Clark, a glaring look of resentment and poorly-concealed hatred. Bernie just nodded.

"I promised Miranda a flight," Clark said firmly, stepping forward. "Any objections?" He stared challengingly at Patricia, who fluttered a bit. But at Bernie's reassuring gesture he sensed permission. Peter just glared back sullenly but said nothing.

Clark nodded and stepped forward to Miranda. He gently scooped her up – I was very familiar with that process – and levitated a few feet off the floor. Miranda clutched his neck and squeaked a little bit – I was very familiar with that reaction, too. Clark sailed gently around the room, ending up back near Miranda's chair. As he landed, Miranda excitedly asked, "Can we go flying outside?"

At this, both her parents responded with an emphatic "No!" Patricia then added, "Not this time, honey." Peter continued glaring at Clark.

I had ended up near Bernie, and whilst Clark was setting Miranda down, he observed, "I still don't know how he does that. It's against the laws of physics, at least the ones we know. So there must be other laws we don't know."

Clark strode toward us. Grinning at Klein, he said, "Well, Bernie, it's like when someone told Bugs Bunny he was breaking the law of gravity. Bugs said, 'Well, I never studied law.'"

Nobody laughed.

"OK," Clark said, his smile faded, "It's time for us to go."

We walked to the exit of the non-meteor-rock-infested stairway. Clark avoided his customary handshake and I followed suit, not particularly wanting Peter to have such a golden opportunity to snub us. Instead, he waved, saying, "Patricia. Peter. Bernie. See you later. Miranda. I'll be back."

From Peter's expression, that was the worst news he'd heard all day. He sat like a stone while Bernie and Patricia waved back. Miranda wriggled in her chair. "Will you take me flying again?"

Clark stopped at the door. "If it's OK with your parents." As we left, I could hear Miranda pleading, "Mom? Dad? Can I fly again?" I could hear the eagerness in her voice. Surely her parents could too.

"You ready to go?" Clark asked. He obviously was.

"OK."

He scooped me up and the world blurred. When it came back into focus, I was in his arms, a thousand feet up. "That was a quick exit."

"Leave 'em wanting more, that's what I always say," Clark said sardonically.

"Are you coming back?"

He stared at me incredulously. "Of course I am."

"Yes." Stupid question. "Clark?"

"Yes?"

"You'll be careful, won't you? I mean, that was a definitely mixed audience."

"Let's see. Miranda's excited but too young to know how dangerous I am. Bernie sees me as an exciting new kind of lab rat. Patricia is nervous but she's grateful enough for saving Miranda that she's polite to me. Gloria's probably smashing the dishes I used, and Peter is contemplating murder options."

"Peter's a weasel." I recognized his type. "Gloria's worth ten of him. He hates you but he didn't even have the guts to tell you to get away from his kid. At least Gloria is honest about what she's doing. Peter's pulling that passive-aggressive stuff."

"Yeah."

"If you go inside, be sure to get Bernie to escort you. I think if Peter found you on the landing like Gloria did, he'd shoot you."

"I still wonder why Gloria didn't."

I shrugged as best I could, given my position. "She's an interesting character."

"I still have to convince her to take away the meteor rock," Clark said stubbornly.

I shrugged again. "Like she said, good luck with that."

He sighed. "By the way, you didn't negotiate any tomatoes, did you?"

"No, why do you ask?"

Clark only sighed again.

After another minute, he said, "You know, I was wondering…"

"What?"

"I know what long-term exposure to meteor rock can do. I saw it in Smallville." He sounded grim. "I was thinking, maybe I should have insisted on destroying it to keep everybody safe. Gone through Gloria's place and vaporized it all with my heat vision. Or gotten a lead shield and disposed of it."

Surprised, I considered it. "Well, you're right about the meteor rock." I'd been in Lowell County long enough to know that. Meteor rock exposure did change people, and often, not for the better. "I think… I don't think that would have gone over very well. I think Gloria and the rest would see it as a hostile act."

"But should I do it, if removing the kryptonite is the right thing to do?" Clark asked me. "I mean, Gloria is putting her people at active risk."

"Hmm. Let me think. We have a super-powered alien who invades your home, and destroys the one thing that will keep you safe from him. Oh yes, the alien is one of the race that destroyed your civilization. No, Clark, I think that would cause a diplomatic incident."

Clark let out a reluctant chuckle at my sarcastic tone. "Plus, I'm not sure I could get away with it," he confessed. "Gloria would have some backup plan ready to kill me."

"No doubt. No, Clark, let us humans make our crazy and illogical decisions on our own. Free will and all that." I said sardonically, "We'll just ask you to use your superhuman powers to save us from the consequences of our decisions."

Clark had to smile. "Well, maybe they'll be OK," he said hopefully.

"Yeah. Not everyone gets infected by the meteor rock." But a lot of people did. There was no telling. "I just don't think you should, Clark. It's sort of… breaking the bounds of etiquette."

"And that's another thing! Martha, maybe you could give me some advice." Clark looked at me earnestly.

"Well, OK."

"I'm just not sure how, um, firm I should be. I mean, look at the way Peter was treating me."

"How was he treating you?"

"Like I was a criminal or something! If I was a regular guy he wouldn't have treated me that way." Clark paused a moment. "I've been, well, I've really worked hard at turning the other cheek since I've been in this world. But if people are treating me like crap, maybe I should stand up for myself more. I mean, I don't want people to fear me, but I do want them to respect me. At least give me the respect they'd give a human."

"Would this involve using the powers more, so people can see they're twisting the lion's tail?"

Clark sighed again. He said, "Maybe."

"Clark, you were just complaining the other day about nobody talking to you because you're Kryptonian. Or else they only tell you what they think you want to hear."

"Yeah. So you're saying it's a choice between being treated like crap or being treated like… like Zod?"

"I think only a few very angry or very stupid people will do the "kick the Kryptonian"." I gestured down to the dead and blasted landscape below – an example of what an angry Kryptonian could do. "Speaking for myself, it's a whole lot easier to talk to you when you're not, um…"

"Doing the 'kneel before Clark' thing?"

"Doing the obviously superhuman things."

"Interesting that you say that when we're flying."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Clark sighed again. He was really doing a lot of sighing in this conversation. "Well, it's not really in me to stand up and demand respect, Martha. My dad always told me that you couldn't demand respect, you had to earn it."

"Your dad – Jonathan?" Clark rarely talked about his adoptive parents. It was a delicate topic between us, considering that I was his mother's counterpart.

"Yeah."

"That sounds like something Jonathan would say." It did.

"So I tend to just go about my business, and hope that my actions speak for themselves. Like my dad. He was a 'lead-by-example' kind of guy."

Enough talk about Jonathan. We'd divorced years ago. That didn't mean I didn't still have feelings for him. He was dead now and I didn't want to think about him. I especially didn't want to think about him – about us – as having a son. An adopted Kryptonian son. "I guess, Clark, if it comes down to turning the other cheek or, um, demanding respect, I'd rather you turn the other cheek. It's much less frightening."

Clark said dryly, "I'll take that under advisement."

We flew in silence for about ten minutes. Clark seemed to be puttering along. Certainly we'd flown faster in the past. Did he want to spend time with me? Was he just thinking so hard he automatically slowed down? I squirmed a little bit. I wished he'd hurry up. I had things to do.

After another minute, Clark said, "Actually, it was really hard for me to use my powers like that."

Puzzled, I asked, "Like what?"

"Like, out in the open. In front of everybody."

"Hello! Like you haven't been using them at Metropolis base?"

"Well, Martha, I've snuck off to corners and hidden behind curtains. Metaphorically."

"You use them around me all the time."

"That's different. You're my mo- " He cut off abruptly.

Awkward silence.

He resumed after a minute. "Martha, I had _twenty years _of indoctrination, telling me to keep it a secret. Never use the powers in front of anyone. Be subtle. Have a good cover story ready. So boiling the water in the teakettle, and flying – right there with everybody watching! It just felt wrong."

I considered it. It surprised me. The other Kryptonians – they'd reveled in their powers and had enjoyed dominating. They had displayed their abilities flamboyantly while destroying the human race.

For a minute I could almost feel Clark's discomfort. "What about those jobs you did down at the oil rig? Clearing out all the floating debris? Diving deep down? I heard that you carried some heavy parts."

Clark started to shrug, realized he was holding me, and thought better of it. "Yes, that was in front of everybody, well, not really. It was just in front of a few people. And that….it was a _job_."

"So it's different if it's a job versus something personal?"

"Well, yeah."

"The reports we got from A.C. said that you got along….that everyone got along with you."

"It helped that A.C. vouched for me. Plus, the focus there was on the job – getting the rig and the refinery back online. If you helped with that, nobody, um, officially noticed anything. I swear, at least three-quarters of the people there were meta and used their powers in some way. Heck, A.C. could stay underwater for _two hours_. After a while, I was just part of the scenery." He flew in silence for a minute. "The conversations did tend to die off when I walked into the local watering hole, though."

"What about Perry?"

"Perry wasn't at the local watering hole."

"No, you idiot, why don't you mind using your powers in front of Perry?"

Clark looked surprised. "Good point. I never thought of that."

"Well, why?"

"I guess…I guess it's because he's already seen everything. He's a newsman who covered the end of the world as we know it. You get the feeling that you could, uh, I don't know, do something really crazy around him – "

"Like flying?"

"Uh, yeah. And he'd just look at you and ask you to make sure he had your name spelled correctly."

"So, really, when you think about it, Clark, you use your powers openly in front of people all the time."

"Sometimes."

I got an inkling. "Do you do the superhuman things in front of Lex?"

"No." His voice was curt.

"How about Chloe?"

He evaded. "I didn't – I wasn't able to fly when I went on the missions with her."

"Do you use your powers in front of Chloe now?"

He gave in. "Not really."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer.

"Think about that, Clark." How had our conversation taken this turn? Maybe I should think about it too. Did Clark not like having the powers? Was he ashamed? He ought to be, considering what the other Kryptonians had done. Except he wasn't here then. Or did he consider Lex his adversary, and not want to give information to the enemy? From things he'd said about the Lex in his own world, I rather thought that he and his Lex had been friends at first who'd gradually morphed into….not really enemies, but mutual dislike? Certainly he cared for Chloe – was he embarrassed about having powers, and didn't want to appear so overtly alien in her presence?

Another thought came to mind. "You showed off at Gloria's place."

Clark said aggrievedly, "I thought you'd already told everyone."

"Clark," I said, matter-of-factly, "stop kidding yourself. You know as well as I do that they wouldn't have treated you the way they did at the beginning if they knew you weren't hu…were Kryptonian."

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess the 'Martha told them already' story is an excuse. But what was I going to do? I couldn't let Miranda die."

_No, instead you revealed yourself as an alien and got your tomato supply cut off, _I mused. We flew on.


	20. Chapter 20

_A few weeks later_

Clark tried to settle himself on the thin mattress. It was early, but he'd finished what he had to do today. From a few things Lex carefully hadn't said, Clark felt that it might be time to spend a night in his room at Metropolis base again. It seemed to make people less nervous if they knew where he was at night.

_I think it makes Lex nervous when I spend too much time at the Daily Planet building, _Clark mused. Certainly Clark preferred the airy, sunlit _Planet _quarters to these bare-bones underground accommodations. But it was a bad idea to make Lex Luthor nervous. Clark hadn't needed Martha's confirmation of that statement to know it was true.

He heard giggles and footsteps. He sharpened his hearing – the giggles had been loud enough to hear without any special abilities. He identified Chloe and Martha at the same time they knocked on his door.

He looked down at himself, clad only in boxer shorts. Not appropriate. He took the time between one knock and the next to dress himself. Then he opened the door.

"Chloe? Martha?" _What are you doing here this late at night? In fact, what are you doing __**here**__?_

"Can we come in, Clark?" Chloe hiccupped. She wore a big goofy grin.

"Clark?" Martha echoed.

He could smell the alcohol on their breaths. This couldn't be good. Maybe he should keep them out in the hallway. No, maybe he _should _invite them in. Then the surveillance devices would capture how gentlemanly Clark Kent had been, how _nothing at all_ happened between a lonely alien and two good-looking females. "Sure." He opened the door wider and they walked in past him.

Martha sat down on the desk chair, her walk just a little wobbly. Chloe dropped herself heavily on the bed. "Clark," she began.

"Yes?" he answered cautiously.

"You know what tomorrow is?"

_Flag Day? Columbus Day? National Secretaries Day? Oh, I forgot – they're 'administrative assistants'. _"Uh, no?"

"It's Lois's birthday tomorrow!" Martha ground out the words.

"Yeah! It's Lois's birthday tomorrow!" Chloe echoed cheerfully.

Warily, Clark asked, "So….you started celebrating already?"

"Of course!" Chloe caroled. "The Lane-Sullivans _always _celebrate each other's birthdays!"

Clark stared at Martha. Chloe correctly decoded his stare. "I couldn't drink alone, could I?" She lifted the bottle she held. Clark took it, sniffed it, and winced. After Zod's downfall, the boffins in the basement had set up a still (or maybe they'd had a still going all throughout the Kryptonian occupation – Clark hadn't asked) and they'd distilled a crude spirit that Clark had heard his father refer to once as "white lightning". Clark cautiously took a swig and almost spat it out. He swallowed it and gasped. It was a good thing Chloe was a metahuman with an accelerated healing ability, if she drank stuff like this.

Martha hiccupped, distracting Clark.

"Anyway, Clark…." Chloe put her hand on the cheap blanket and started walking her fingers up and down the lining at the head end, "we got a great idea!"

"A great idea…" Martha slurred.

"What is this great idea?" Clark asked. He was going to get in some sort of trouble. He knew it.

Chloe stopped her fingers' walking and looked up at Clark with a brilliant smile. "I said, I wish I could be there with Lois for her birthday, and Martha said, 'Why don't you ask Clark? He'd fly you there, I bet!'"

"Where is Lois?" Clark asked, buying some time.

"Cali…Cali…California!" Chloe finally triumphed over the breathy "F" sound. She seemed to be having some difficulty with it. Maybe it was that Brainiac had horribly burned the right side of her face, scarring and twisting the skin. Or maybe it was because she was drunk.

"But Lois's birthday is tomorrow." Clark wondered why he was putting obstacles in their way.

"But we want to go _now_. Come on, Clark," Chloe pleaded. "It's Lois's birthday!"

An unaccustomed spirit of deviltry crept over Clark. Why not? He hadn't seen this world's Lois since his trial. And it wasn't like distance was a barrier.

"OK."

"OK?" Chloe glanced owlishly at him, obviously not expecting him to cave so early.

"OK." Clark was firm. He gestured toward the two women. "You go and pack a bag. We'll walk outside together and take off from there."

"Oh…kay…" Chloe slurred. She was leaning against the wall now, and looked very close to slipping down onto the bed. Clark glanced at Martha. She made no move to get up from the chair.

"OK?" Clark said encouragingly.

"Yes. OK." Definitely some shakiness to those words.

"Maybe if I escort you to your rooms?"

"That's….that's good." This from Martha, whose eyes were closed.

"OK then." Clark stood up decisively and with one wide gesture, scooped Chloe up and set her on her feet. He kept an arm on hers as she gained her equilibrium. Then he walked over the few steps and did the same for Martha. By her expression, the room was whirling around her.

"You're sure you want to go?" he asked.

Chloe straightened herself. "It's Lois's birthday. I'm going." Drunk but determined.

Clark carefully escorted them down to Chloe's room. He'd never been there before, never seen Chloe's private quarters. She opened the door. It wasn't just her room, he realized. It was Lex's room too. They were married. They lived together. They slept together. And, as Clark's superior olfactory senses told him, they had sex together. At least they had in the last few days.

He thought he'd gotten over Chloe but when stuff like this happened, he found he hadn't. Realizing again that his own Chloe was lost, that this Chloe was partners with Lex, of all people, sent the familiar metaphorical dagger through his heart. "You pack," he told Chloe brusquely. Anything to get away from this room that smelled of Chloe and Lex together. He gave her a little push into the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He made a show of supporting Martha. She shot him one searching glance, then looked away and said nothing. He wondered how much she knew. Then he decided to stop kidding himself. Of course Martha would know that he had loved the Chloe in his world, that he'd stupidly missed his opportunities with her. It wasn't like he'd kept that a secret from this Chloe the first days he'd been in this world. After that, politely, no one spoke of it.

Why did he torture himself this way? He could never have sex with a human woman. When he and Lana had made love, he'd been de-powered. Now, he rather thought his powers had actually become stronger, with all the use they'd been getting while he was in this alternate world. Having sex…making love… He was so strong. He could leave fingerprints in a steel girder. What if he lost control? And wasn't 'losing control' very likely to happen if he… Horrible visions swam through his head. Clark dragged his mind away from that and watched Martha pack.

Martha might be tipsy but she was focused. She packed some clothing and toiletries in just a few minutes, despite stopping a few times to regain her equilibrium. Without a word, she closed her room door and grasped Clark's arm. Together, they walked back down the halls to Chloe's room.

Chloe wasn't so efficient. In fact, she'd not moved from where Clark had deposited her.

Irritation replaced Clark's deviltry. "If you want to go, you've got to pack," he snapped. Sensing the evidence of her intimacies with Lex made him irritable. Knowing he could never have that stung him. "If you're not packed in the next five minutes, I'm assuming that you don't really want to go."

Chloe stared at him owlishly. Martha looked back and forth between them, and took charge. "She'll be ready."

Clark looked at the room. He tried not to focus on the double bed with its mussed sheets prominently displayed. He nodded shortly to Martha, and then strode off, back to his own room. If the women were taking a bag apiece, and he was going to fly both of them at once, he'd need his own capacious backpack. He retrieved it, threw in a few items, and forced himself to walk slowly back to Chloe and Lex's room.

By the time he got there, Martha had made good on her promise. Chloe stood propped up against the wall, holding a small backpack in one hand and the bottle of alcohol in the other. "We're still gonna go, right?" she asked blurrily. "I wanna say Happy Birthday to Lois."

Clark sighed. He could refuse Chloe nothing, even a Chloe who wasn't his own. "Yeah. We're going."

"Goody!"

"By the way, Chloe," Clark said evenly, "just where are we going?"

"Cali…California!"

"California is a big place. _Where _in California?"

"In…in…" Chloe beckoned Martha over and they whispered together. It was Martha, obviously less drunk, who took over the spokesman role. "Shasta Lake." She recited an address to Clark . "Do you need me to write that down?"

"No thanks. I've got it." Clark was already planning his route. He put his hand out and the two women passed him their baggage. He carefully fit it into his backpack, around his own few personal things. Shrugging his backpack over his shoulders, he realized it was time to get out of this room that reminded him that this world's Chloe was not his, would never be his. A happy marriage, like his parents had, could never be his. Tersely he ground out, "Let's go."

Clark ended up supporting the two women during their walk through the night-darkened hallways of Metropolis base. A thought came to him. "Did you tell Lex?"

Chloe frowned. "I don't need Lex's permission to go anywhere. And besides, he's out."

Clark persisted. "No, I mean, did you leave him a note so he knows where you went?" If _he _were married to Chloe, he'd sure want to know where she'd gone if she turned up missing one day.

"Uh…"

_No, _Clark decoded. "OK, we'll tell the gate guard."

And they did. When Bill at the gate saw Clark walking along with two obviously tipsy women, two tipsy women who were high up in the ranks, he raised his eyebrows. He fumbled in his pocket and Clark wondered if he was going to unwrap the kryptonite that all the gate guards carried. Clark had better get there first.

"Hey, Bill," Clark greeted the guard. "Will you please tell Lex, when he comes back, that Martha and Chloe and I are going to California?"

Bill goggled at them. He'd been on gate guard duty often during the time that Clark had been here at Metropolis base, and they'd become acquainted, Clark chatting with the man every time he came and went on his errands. But people leaving the base with Clark? _That _was out of the ordinary. Martha did, of course, every week for lunch or on missions, but never anyone else.

"California?" Bill asked.

"Yeah! California!" Chloe said defiantly. "It's Lois's birthday. And we're going to celebrate it with her." Except that "celebrate" came out as "shellebrate". Chloe held up her bottle, which she'd stubbornly held on to. "Wanna swig?"

"Lois's birthday….oh." The guard's wary attitude changed. "Lois's birthday!" Now he was actually smiling. "Of course." He ignored Chloe's bottle offer and stood out of their way. "Give her my best regards." Everyone knew Lois, Clark mused. The few at Metropolis base that had survived the Kryptonian Occupation all knew each other well.

Chloe sniffed and took another swig from her bottle. Martha winced.

"Chloe," Clark began in a cheerful tone, "either you leave that bottle here with Bill or you put it in the backpack. No drinking when flying."

"I'm on duty. No drinking." Bill was quick to dissociate himself. Either he was a non-drinker, thought Clark, or he was well aware of the quality of the distillate. Or maybe, more charitably, he didn't want to deprive Lois of her birthday tipple. Knowing Lois, that was a plausible option.

Chloe sulked but gave Clark the bottle. He swung off his pack, capped the bottle, and nestled it carefully amidst the clothing. He secured the pack, hoisted it back onto his shoulders, and ushered the women out the door.

Once outside, he took a minute to look at the clear night sky. The Kryptonian occupation had decreased the amount of smog and light pollution. Of course, that was because more than 99% of the human race was dead, but at least you could see the stars at night now.

"I've never been flying before," Chloe confessed suddenly. Her heart had sped up, Clark noted. "I mean, without being in an airplane."

"You'll be fine," Martha reassured her. "Clark will take care of you."

Clark was glad that the darkness obscured his blush. At Martha's statement, totally inappropriate methods of _taking care _of Chloe had come rushing into his head. "Um, yeah," he blurted. "I won't let you fall." He stepped closer and extended his hands. "If you're ready…."

Martha confidently moved into his grasp. What a change that was from the first time they'd worked together, thought Clark. At least he'd managed one good thing in his time on this blasted world. She no longer flinched back when he neared her; her heart no longer leapt into a frightened flutter at his presence.

"What do I do?" Chloe asked.

"I put my arm around your waist….you put your arm around mine." Clark made sure he had a firm, but not too tight, grip on each woman. Chloe hesitantly copied him. She actually looked a little nervous now. That was unusual for her.

Clark made the now-automatic extension of his aura. It was a little different this time since he carried two instead of one. He'd achieved much greater control since the unconscious fumblings of his first days. Like all his abilities, with practice had come refinement and precise control.

"And we go up slowly," he said. Chloe gasped quietly as they lifted off, but after just a minute she was smiling broadly. "Wow, this is cool."

"I'm sorry it's night," Clark said regretfully. "You can see a lot more in the daytime." The once-bright cities had gone dark, thanks to the invading Kryptonians. He carefully didn't mention that.

He achieved cruising altitude and set a course west and started pouring on the speed. He had no difficulty seeing, of course, but then Kryptonian eyes saw a wider range of the spectrum than what humans called 'visible light'.

"That's OK," Chloe said. She yawned widely.

It was contagious. Clark yawned, and then Martha did too.

"Hey, pilot, don't fall asleep," Martha teased.

Clark hid his shock. Martha never teased him. She was always formal, even though they'd achieved some friendliness in the last few months. That she teased him now was a sign that she really trusted him. Or else she was just really drunk. Or maybe both.

"I'm fine," he said noncommittally. He flew on in silence for a few minutes more. He began to say something to Martha, but his comment died unspoken when their grips loosened. He looked at them – both women had fallen asleep. Clark made sure he held them securely and chuckled quietly. That homemade booze was something.

They flew west, but it had been late enough in Metropolis when they left that California, in the Pacific Time Zone, was in darkness too. Clark flew over the Rocky Mountains, their snowcaps restored from the thirty-month winter the Earth had lately endured. He went further, flying over Lake Tahoe. The stillness of the deep blue water soothed him.

They were at the California – Nevada border. The only problem was that, as he'd said to Martha, California was a big state. He had a rudimentary sense of "location" – if he were teleported somewhere on Earth, he could probably tell rough latitude and longitude – but so far, he lacked specificity. He often, when flying over America, navigated by the interstate highways. Unfortunately, he hadn't checked where Lake Shasta was in relation to the concrete ribbons. Maybe he should start a regular patrol, go over the continent systematically, learn each section in relation to unchanging landmarks. The Grand Canyon. The Mississippi River. Things like that.

No matter. He'd gone high-tech. He landed, carefully keeping the women propped in a standing position against an abandoned building. He carefully worked around his passengers to pull a GPS unit from his pocket. The Kryptonians had not destroyed the GPS satellites. Idly, Clark wondered why. It certainly wasn't because they lacked the capability. He himself had gone to a malfunctioning communications satellite and performed some simple repairs. But Zod et al had seemed content with destroying Earth's surface infrastructure.

Clark entered his destination, and within minutes, had his direction. Chloe and Martha remained asleep through all of this. Of course, he'd been trying not to disturb them. Keeping the unit in his hand, he readjusted his grasp on his passengers and again lifted off.

He couldn't fly too fast or the GPS wouldn't work. He'd heard that was an anti-terrorist measure built in, so that the devices couldn't be used as targeting computers for rocket launchers. So he flew at what seemed a puttering-along speed, checking the GPS every ten minutes or so. He didn't really mind the slow progress. It was a curious balm to his soul, to be able to touch, to hold, to protect these women who had become – and in their alternate versions of his original Earth, who had always been – dear to him. In sleep, Martha and Chloe had lost the faint tension that they always had around him. Their quiet breathing, their steady heartbeats served as a reminder that he'd earned their trust.

And that made him feel good.


	21. Chapter 21

Clark touched down with his sleeping passengers at the small house in Shasta Lake. The windows were dark. Gently shaking Martha and Chloe, Clark woke them. "We're here," he said, knocking on the front door of the modest home.

Chloe rubbed her eyes. She seemed a lot more tired than she had when she'd been cajoling Clark back at Metropolis base. Martha seemed diminished as well, forced to waken just after slipping into sleep.

Clark knocked again. This time he heard an irritated grumble from inside, and footsteps approaching the door. A porch light came on, and Clark raised his eyebrows. They'd done well with the reconstruction, to have electricity.

"Who is it?" a cautious man's voice asked.

There was a moment of silence. Clark nudged Chloe.

"It's Chloe," she began, and then gradually acquired her usual confident voice. "We're here to celebrate Lois's birthday."

Clark heard bodies moving and Lois's voice, astonished, replaced the man's. "Chloe? What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Chloe said with the quick irritability of the intoxicated. "We're here to celebrate your birthday."

The door swung open. Lois viewed them, surprised and incredulous. She leaned forward and hugged her cousin. "Chloe! You're here! I can't believe it!" Then she looked up and saw Clark. She blinked in understanding. "Oh."

Martha took over with her usual cool decisiveness. "May we come in?"

Lois looked behind her, at someone Clark couldn't see. He automatically used his special vision, looking through the walls, and saw a man's figure well back of the door, archer's bow with strung arrow in hand. The man made a questioning gesture.

"It's Chloe," Lois began, obviously addressing her hidden companion. She still couldn't keep the happy surprise from her voice. "And Martha made it too. And Kal-El." The welcome had progressively leaked from her voice – she said "Kal-El" in a tone of flat neutrality.

"Please, call me Clark," Clark said, the spirit of deviltry returning. He was interested in meeting this Lois. He'd only spent a week or so with her. When he first came to this world, she'd captured him, to his dismay, and taken him to the Resistance. After that Clark had joined their forces and helped them to bring down Zod and Aethyr. He wasn't sure how Lois viewed him, but he counted her as a friend. At his trial, she'd had the guts to vote to take a chance on him. She'd been bold enough to trust.

He thought back to those days, right after he'd been released from his confinement. He'd gone to Lois afterward, speaking privately to her.

_"I want to thank you for giving me a chance."_

_ "How'd you know I did?" Lois challenged him._

_ Not wanting to admit he'd been eavesdropping and preferring to keep the fact that his hearing still worked even with the kryptonite handcuffs on a secret, Clark prevaricated with a terse comment of "Nose counting." He continued, "It's obvious that Baker and Rojas wouldn't have voted for me." Lois's half-nod confirmed that. "And I'm not sure about Martha or Lex. So you must have been on my side."_

_ "I'm not on your side, Kal-El," she'd retorted. "But you kept your part of the bargain, so we had to." _

_ "You didn't have to." _

_ Lois stared back at him. She smelled afraid. Her heart raced. Clark realized he intimidated her. His large size, his Kryptonian-ness and his close proximity were all very scary. She didn't outwardly show her fear in the least. Clark would never have detected it without his special abilities. "Yes, I did." She took a deep breath. "Well, don't make me regret it." _

_ Clark had only nodded and turned away. After that, Lois had left Metropolis base, and he hadn't seen her till now. _

Chloe burped, and that broke the tension. Lois whooped with laughter. She didn't bother glancing again at the man in the house behind her before she ushered the three travelers into the house.

Clark came in last. The man, several strides away, hadn't put down his bow. Clark wasn't very surprised to see that the man was Oliver Queen, this world's version. Clark wondered if Ollie had started his hero-vigilante career as Green Arrow before the Kryptonians had come. Obviously, by his stance, this Ollie had the same archery talents as the Oliver in Clark's world.

Martha took over. "It's OK, Ollie," she said. "Clark's fine." Oliver gave Martha one long searching look, then did the same to Clark. Apparently reassured, he relaxed the tension on his bow and set down his weapon. He avoided the women, who had coalesced into a big group hug, and came forward to meet Clark. He stuck his hand out and looked Clark straight in the eye.

"Oliver Queen," the blond man said confidently. "With Chloe and Martha here so unexpectedly – " did a look of surprise cross his face? If so, it was subtle. "You must be Kal-El."

Clark took Oliver's hand and shook it. He missed shaking hands. People somehow tended to avoid shaking hands with him. Maybe they were afraid of having their arms ripped out of their sockets, as Zod had done on occasion. Clark had seen the nausea-inducing footage. "Technically, yes, but I prefer…I think of myself…..please call me Clark. Clark Kent."

Ollie's eyebrows rose. "Well, if that's what you prefer…" He took a look at Chloe and Lois, who were talking sixteen to the dozen while Martha stood back, smiling broadly. "You've made Lois's day." He fixed Clark with a gimlet gaze. "Why?"

"Chloe asked me." Clark shrugged. "I was at Metropolis base, and she asked me."

"How long did it take you, to run all the way here?" Oliver asked. Curiosity was evident in his demeanor.

"I didn't run. I flew."

"Lois said you couldn't fly."

"I learned how." Seeing annoyance on Ollie's face, Clark quickly added, "When Lois first met me, yeah, I couldn't fly then. I didn't pick it up till I'd been in this world a few months."

Ollie stared back at him. "You know, that's one of those statements that makes no sense at all."

Clark sighed. "What exactly have you heard about me?"

"Just what Lois knows. You're the Kryptonian who was supposedly raised here on Earth but it was some weird parallel Earth. Frankly, that sounded way out there. You fought with the Resistance when they took down Zod and then you promised – " Ollie curled his lip – "to be good."

Clark laughed out loud. He felt comfortable with this alternate Ollie. Both Ollies had that cocky confidence. Clark hoped he could be friends with this Ollie too. "That's about the gist of it. Hey, I'll tell you the whole long story if you want." Ollie made an interested noise. "But, seriously, the big thing to remember is that I'm sworn never to hurt anyone, and I'm here to help."

"Like Warrior Angel?" the blond archer started chuckling too. Clark's smile seemed to be contagious tonight. "You've sworn to use your awesome powers only for good?"

"I'm no Warrior Angel, but yeah."

Chloe interrupted them. "Clark!"

"Yes?"

"Pull out that bottle," she commanded. "We all have to toast Lois on her birthday."

"Oh—kay." He figured the last thing Chloe needed was more alcohol. But they weren't going anywhere and it was Lois's birthday, so what the heck. He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out the mostly-full bottle of white lightning.

Oliver took control, ushering them all over to chairs around a small table in a breakfast nook. Lois pulled some tumblers out of kitchen cupboards.

Clark handed Chloe the bottle. She picked it up and began pouring into one of the tumblers. She misjudged her aim and the raw alcohol cascaded down the side of the glass.

"Whoa!" Oliver said. "I think – " he deftly plucked the bottle from Chloe's wobbly grasp. He poured a shot into each of the glasses and set them in front of people. He picked up his tumbler. "To Lois – Happy Birthday." His eyes met Lois's, and their sappy smiles made it obvious that Lois and Ollie had a romantic thing going.

"To Lois!" everyone except Lois echoed. Oliver tossed down his drink in one swallow, as did Chloe and Lois. All three broke into coughs. Martha sipped hers slowly, smiling. Clark's glass stayed in his hand, the drink untouched.

"Clark?" Martha asked.

"It doesn't affect me anyway," Clark mumbled.

"That's not the point," Martha said acidly. Clark caught a glimpse of Lois's face before she schooled her features into impassivity – was that disappointment? Or hurt?

"Well, then, to Lois. Happy Birthday." Clark pasted a smile on his face, and drank it down. It tasted terrible. And despite his invulnerability, Clark broke into coughs too. He fought his way through the coughs to join in the singing that Martha started, "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…"

Lois smiled reluctantly.

"Happy Birthday, dear Loooooiiiisss, Happy Birthday to you!"

"Bartender, another round," Lois said to Ollie, half-mockingly. He made a gesture. Chloe, Martha, and Lois shoved their glasses in front of Oliver. Clark followed suit, but only after Martha glared at him.

"Please, no more shots," he begged.

Lois looked at him, her face a study in incredulity. After a minute, she morphed into laughter. "What? No more shots?" After another minute, she doubled over, guffawing. "You can't handle shots?"

"Well, they taste terrible…." Clark knew he sounded like a wuss. "You're so much tougher than I am." Maybe flattery would work.

By now Chloe and Martha had joined in the laughter. "No more shots?" Chloe whooped.

"I, uh, never played drinking games," Clark said lamely.

Lois's eyes met Chloe's. "Well, it seems that it's our duty to further your education, Clark," Chloe said.

Lois chimed in. "Yeah. Let me tell you about a little game called Quarter Bounce."

* * *

It was an hour later and the party had degenerated to listless conversation. Fortunately for Clark, there really hadn't been enough of the homemade beer to get into a real game of Quarter Bounce (or any of the distressing number of other drinking games that Lois, Chloe and Oliver seemed to know. Martha claimed not to know any drinking games but she had a suspicious familiarity with the rules of any game proposed.) But those who sat around the table had definitely gotten well-lubricated. Except Clark, of course. He'd nursed his drink, not wanting them to waste any more of the alcohol on him.

Lois's inhibitions had relaxed enough that she'd demanded to see some Kryptonian parlor tricks. Clark had complied by levitating, then setting down beside Lois and asking if she wanted to go for a flight with him. She'd agreed without a moment's hesitation. He'd only flown them around the room, though. He noticed Ollie giving him a calculating look as he'd set Lois back down in her chair.

"You know what your problem is, Clark?" Lois asked drunkenly.

"No, what?" Clark said, humoring her. He could think of any number of problems that he had, starting with being stuck on this world.

"You look so normal…..like such a regular guy….and then you start flying. Or something." Lois waved a hand, consigning his other abilities to "or something".

"Thanks….I think. What's wrong with that?"

Lois slammed her palm on the table. "It's just wrong. Wrong." She took another sip of white lightning. "The others….they looked alien."

"Um…."

"You know, Lois has a point there." Martha entered the conversation. She'd been quiet all evening, nursing her drink almost as well as Clark nursed his.

"So I should look more alien?" God, please not that. He'd always ever only wanted to fit in.

"No, it's like…..you're the good alien, right?" Martha said in the tone of one who was trying to figure it out herself.

"Yes." Firmly, definitely. _Don't let anyone get any questions about that_.

"So you need to market yourself as the good alien. Have a brand identity or something."

"Kal-El. The Good Alien." Chloe giggled. "The new slogan."

Oliver grew interested. "Not a bad idea, Martha. When I was running Queen Industries, we spent millions of dollars every year on our brand. We had a logo, a motto, you name it. TV, radio, sponsorships….heck, one year we even paid groomers at the Westminster Dog Show to scissor it into the poodles. Both sides of the poodles. And some of the groomers used hair gel on the poodles to sculpture our logo in the hair and then they shaved away everything else."

"Didn't that mess up their show coats?" Chloe seemed appalled.

"No, no, no! They weren't in the show! These were poodles we'd paid – I mean, we'd paid their owners – to be there specially." Oliver wasn't quite sober either. "It was to advertise our pet food division. And the best part?"

"What?" Everyone asked.

Oliver smiled triumphantly. "We dyed them green. Queen Industries green – you know that shade?" Everyone nodded. "So we had a bunch of green poodles with the Queen Industries logo shaved or sculpted into their fur. We put them right in front. And everyone going into the dog show had to walk past our poodle parade."

"Your paid pomaded poodle parade," Martha muttered. She was very good at getting all the P's out, Clark noticed.

"Say that again," Chloe demanded.

"Um, I'm not a poodle," Clark said loudly, overriding Martha's mumbling repeat.

Oliver got a calculating look. "But you already have a brand. A brand identity?"

"What?"

Understanding flared in Chloe's eyes. "The El symbol!"

"What?"

"Clark, you're from the House of El, right?" Chloe had her "investigative reporter" look.

"Uh, yeah?"

"And your House has a symbol, right?"

"Yes…"

"It looks sort of like an "S" in a pentagon, right?"

"I know what my House symbol looks like," Clark snapped.

"Did you know that the Resistance was using it as their symbol? That was what we rallied under during the Occupation?" Chloe wasn't slurring her words at all now, and she smiled brightly.

"I think Lex mentioned it one time."

"Clark, you wear that, everyone will know you're OK."

"At least everyone who was in the Resistance," Lois said darkly. "Not everyone was in it."

"Piffle. Wear the symbol of your House," Chloe retorted.

Clark looked down at his plaid shirt. "Where?"

"You need a suit," Martha broke in.

"What?"

"You need a suit. You put your House symbol on the front of the suit. That's the other part of the idea." She smiled at Chloe, who smiled back. It worried Clark a little that the two of them seemed so telepathic together. Was that some new meta power they hadn't told him about?

"What kind of a suit?" Clark asked suspiciously.

"Well," Martha began, "it's got to be tight…."


	22. Chapter 22

Clark stared at his reflection in disbelief. How had he ever let things get this far?

Lois's impromptu birthday party had broken up after about an hour of discussing what Clark needed for his suit, the proper colors, styling and fitting, and the best ways to market the House of El logo and get their message across. Somehow it had morphed into "their" message and not just "his" message. He should be grateful for that, at least.

Except it was hard to be grateful when he saw how stupid he looked. A blue speedskating suit? A red Speedo? Worn on the_ outside?_ At least the yellow belt was useful for carrying items.

He thought about removing the Speedo and cringed. When he'd first shown himself clad only in skin-tight spandex, the eyes of the three women had immediately headed south and stayed there. Even Oliver, to Clark's dismay, had checked him out. Of course, Oliver had immediately started laughing, which didn't help matters any.

So Clark had decided – immediately – that he required a little more covering, um, down there. He'd headed back to the San Francisco-area sporting goods store he'd liberated the suit from, and picked up the Speedo. Too bad he couldn't wear it _under _the suit, but the suit was just too form-fitting. Wearing his boxers was totally out, and he'd resigned himself to going commando. That resolution had lasted until he'd been ogled, and he'd quickly decided that wearing underwear on the outside was preferable to wearing no underwear at all.

He'd protested the garish, retina-burning primary colors. Chloe had pointed out that they were the colors of his house. Lois had chimed in - what did he want, camo? Or plaid? Martha had said quietly that Zod and Aethyr had worn only black and she wasn't going to allow him to do that. The look in her eye had made the protests die in Clark's throat. So he was stuck with blue, red, and yellow.

Martha had been stellar. She'd demanded a programmable sewing machine. Clark had found one. Then she'd whipped up a couple of cloth versions of his House symbol, and had sewn one onto the chest of his blue suit. Clark sighed as he thought of what had become of the other.

Martha had sewn it onto his cape. _His cape. _Like he was Zorro or something. Who wore capes? It was totally stupid.

But on the other hand, he kind of liked it. It was kind of cool to flip it back, and to turn around and have it whisper behind him. And Martha had sewn the emblem onto the outside of the cape, so people could tell his bona fides from back or front.

Of course, Martha was the reason he had the cape in the first place. She'd pointed out that he might need to change his clothes and get into the Suit (he was already mentally capitalizing the term) quickly sometimes. What was he supposed to do with his clothes? Leave them lying around? So she'd sewn a pocket into the underside of the cape, and told him he'd have to fold up his clothes and tuck them into the pocket when he was doing his alien things. And he'd better learn to extend his aura to the cape when he flew fast, or otherwise he was going to have to go out and get new clothes.

He wondered if he could blame Martha's acerbity on a hangover, but he knew he couldn't. All members of the birthday party were hangover-free, thanks to Chloe's meta healing power. Clark suspected that she herself was the most grateful for that.

Clark opened the door to the small bedroom in Lois and Oliver's house where he'd been changing. He took a deep breath and walked out.

Oliver broke into a guffaw. "Well, Clark, I think we can say with 100% confidence that no one else on Earth is wearing a costume like that."

Chloe hushed Oliver. "Don't pay any attention to him, Clark." Was that a look of disappointment on her face when she saw the Speedo? "This suit, and your House symbol, will tell everyone that you're Kryptonian but you're not a Zod-ite."

"A Zod-ite?"

"You know what I mean." Chloe walked around behind him. She beckoned to Lois. The two of them giggled and Clark had sudden misgivings. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Lois lift the cape and the two women check out his butt.

"Hey!" He jumped forward.

"Martha, couldn't you make this cape any shorter?" Chloe asked in mock-dismay.

"Absolutely not," Clark snapped, before Martha could get a word in edgewise. He felt very exposed. Maybe the cape should be ground-length?

"That's your answer," Martha said, amused. Then the smile came off her face as she addressed Clark. "The footwear. Not right."

Oliver deigned to give Clark a serious – well, at least semi-serious – comment. "Yeah. Farm boots just don't go with that outfit, Clark."

"What are you, a fashion dictator?" Clark retorted.

"No, but I was on the Ten Best-Dressed list every year," Oliver said calmly. "And I'm telling you, Clark, that costume calls out for red boots to match the rest." He flicked a glance at Clark's Speedo and he started laughing again.

"Yeah, boots without mud on them." Lois put in her two cents.

"Hey. I'm changing my clothes. I'm keeping the farm clothes in the cape pocket. What am I supposed to do with the shoes? I can't keep them in the cape pocket. And I don't want to leave them lying around wherever I take off from. What am I supposed to do, tie their shoelaces together and string them around my neck?" Clark pointed out what was obvious to him.

Oliver shrugged, giving him up as a lost cause. "I guess you're right. Shame about the costume, though, ruining good lines with those clodhoppers."

"How come you're so interested?" Clark accused him.

"Hey. I was stranded on an island where I wore A) palm fronds and B) nothing. When I got back to civilization I found I'd developed a new respect for tailoring." Oliver couldn't be suppressed.

Clark had to laugh, his momentary snit forgotten. "I'll bow to your superior knowledge. But I'm stuck with the boots."

"Your loss," Oliver muttered. That closed the subject. "I think you can test out your new Suit today, though."

"What?"

Oliver turned serious. He glanced at Lois, who gave a tiny nod, then looked back at Clark. "You said you were here to help. Is that true?"

Clark met his gaze squarely. "Yes."

"Then we need your help."

"What is it?"

Oliver motioned them all back over to the table. Once everyone sat down (Clark discovering that the cape could be used as a cover-up for certain awkward postures), Oliver began.

"We're here in the town of Shasta Lake."

"Yes."

"The Shasta Dam is four or five miles that way." Oliver pointed in a general west and north direction.

"Yes." Clark had seen the dam, a mighty structure of concrete across the Sacramento River, when he'd flown out on his numerous errands last night. He hadn't seen it during the day, though, since he'd been too busy with the Suit fittings.

"The other Kryptonians didn't destroy it, for some reason," Oliver said dryly. Clark looked away. He wasn't going to apologize any more for what the others had done. But he couldn't help feeling guilty. "Anyway, we've managed to keep a human presence here all throughout the Occupation, and keep the dam maintained, as best we could."

"OK," Clark said, just to see where Ollie was going with this.

"And…."

* * *

Oliver gestured to the residents of Shasta Lake. Clark had heard Oliver mention that he'd thanked his old boarding school more than once for its training in public speaking and rhetoric, things he never thought he'd need. The town's population wasn't all that large, and not everyone had attended this meeting, but given the outdoor location, Oliver would still need to project his voice for everyone to hear properly.

"You know we've got an issue with the dam," Oliver began.

"That's not news," Chris Johnson said sourly. Oliver had told Clark that Chris supported Oliver in most everything, and he'd been on the unofficial review board that Oliver had convened to discuss problems and possible solutions.

The crowd mumbled agreement. Apparently everyone knew the stakes involved in keeping the dam running. Electrical power. Irrigation. Crops. Then, eventually, maybe the entire Central Valley.

"We've been trying to figure out a way to deal with it," Oliver continued. Now the big sell. He shot a glance at Lois, standing by his side. She nodded slightly. "I'm happy to report that we've solved the problem."

Clark heard "solved the problem" and smiled. That was his cue. He came down smoothly, but not so swiftly it might arouse bad memories, and landed quietly next to Oliver and Lois.

Even before he'd touched down, some of the town's inhabitants had looked up and seen him. Sure, maybe it was because Ollie had led the way by ostentatiously staring up at the sky, but maybe it was because Earth people were conditioned now to look up, to check for flying death. Clark tore his mind away from further bad speculations. He heard the comments from the assembled group.

"Sh*t!"

"It's one of _them_!"

"Oh my God…"

"What the _f*ck_, Oliver…."

Widespread shouts had turned to mumbles, and panicked motions had stilled, when Clark gently landed next to Ollie. That, at least, was good. He definitely had their rapt attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ollie said loudly, "let me introduce Kal-El. He's been working with our friends in Metropolis, and he heard that we needed some help."

Silence reigned. Clark didn't like the way the crowd looked at Ollie. From previous whispered comments and careful eavesdropping - no one had actually _said _things to him out loud - Clark had realized that _Kryptonian collaborator_ was a bad nametag to be wearing. Perry had mentioned something once about a lot of mysterious deaths of suspected collaborators happening right after Zod had been taken down.

"Thank you, Mr. Queen," Clark said. He put on his best smile. "I realize that many of you are, uh, disconcerted at my presence. I'd like to assure you that, um, there is no reason to fear." God, he was pompous. Was it from wearing the Suit or was it from having to speak to a bunch of people who were staring daggers at him? "I've sworn to…" _To what? To not hurt anyone? That sounds negative. Try sounding positive. _"um…to use my powers only to help." Clark winced internally. Pompous. That was the word. "I'm here to help."

More silence. Everyone stared at him. "Oliver, give me a hand here," Clark muttered.

Oliver put on a confident tone. "Well, that's the story, ladies and gentlemen." He turned to Clark. "Go do something helpful," he whispered.

"You call that giving me a hand?" Clark hissed back.

"Best I can do."

The people closest to Ollie could hear the sotto voce exchange, and their hostility turned to puzzlement. But when Clark lifted off, they froze in place. And Clark didn't miss the relieved sighs from the rest of the crowd as he flew away.

_Note to self – work on a better speech. The one I'm using isn't doing much, _Clark thought ironically as he zipped the few miles to the dam.

The mighty Shasta Dam dwarfed him, as it would have dwarfed any human being. The surface of the man-made lake behind it, Lake Shasta, shivered as an errant breeze swept across. It stopped at the giant clot of trees, trash, and debris that butted up against the smooth curve of the dam.

That was why Clark was here. The thirty-month cold had killed numerous trees in the surrounding forest. Without their support, soil had eroded and the trees had fallen into the lake. The current carried them to the dam. Normally, dam personnel took care of hazards to navigation such as fallen trees, but… _No people, extra trees, _Clark thought. _Ollie's worried that everything there will block the intake. Or if it ruptures the screens, then all that debris will mess up the turbines. Or it might cause a blockage so that water flows over the top of the Shasta Dam. _All were bad outcomes.

Fortunately, this was a problem easily solved by brute strength and persistence. Clark swooped down and grabbed a main bough of a tree hopelessly tangled in the clot. Only part of it was waterlogged while most of it rode on top of the raft of debris. It resisted his pull, and he fired his heat vision to neatly separate the tree roots from the entanglement.

What to do next? He and Ollie had discussed this, and made preparations. He flew the tree the five miles back to the town of Shasta Lake. Interestingly, many people still stood around Ollie, listening to him. Clark was surprised that more hadn't left.

He floated slowly downward, casually holding the tree to one side. Its branches, even without leaves, made a soughing sound. He stopped, about fifteen feet up. By now, the denizens of the town had stopped haranguing Oliver and stood gazing at him, wide-eyed again.

"Where would you like this, Oliver?" Clark asked. No way was he going to address Ollie as _Mr. Queen _right now.

"Front yard is fine, Kal-El," Oliver said casually. "See, now…." His voice faded in the distance as Clark flew one block down and deposited the tree in the tiny front yard of the house where he'd stayed last night. Its extensive branches spread over the entire yard, into the street, and onto the neighbor's property. Clark's sense of neatness was offended, and with a few more blasts of heat vision, he'd lopped off the branches. Putting on a little speed, and the branches were quickly piled neatly near the main trunk.

By this time, Oliver had made it from the meeting site. Clark stood, waiting for him, feeling excruciatingly exposed in the skin-tight suit. He breathed a little quicker. He'd done it – used his powers overtly, in a totally non-human way. In front of everyone. In front of people who were probably human, not meta. Not hidden, not concealed. Witnessed by twenty to thirty people. For a minute, he almost panicked. His father's words, the oft-repeated phrase about "If people see what you can do, you'll be strapped down in a lab somewhere for experiments", came to mind.

The stares from everyone were the worst. He should be used to this by now – heck, it wasn't like everyone at Metropolis base didn't know he was an alien.

_But even there, you're more discreet,_ Clark told himself. With this – the overt display of the flying, the strength, the heat vision – he had a feeling he was coming out of some metaphorical closet. How did he feel? He wasn't sure yet.

And then Oliver was shaking his hand. Then Oliver strode to the garage door, opened it, and pulled a chainsaw off a pile of boxes.

_That _had been serendipitous. When Clark had flown to get his Suit fixings, he'd passed by an un-looted group of big box stores. He'd gone into the Home Depot and found a passel of chain saws. A little consultation with Ollie, a little siphoning of gasoline from automobile fuel tanks, and they had a plan. The dam provided electrical power, but the houses here weren't heated with electricity. Almost all of them had fireplaces, though, so wood-burning was an alternative.

So the plan was that Clark would get the trees, removing the danger to the dam at the same time, and bring them to the town. Ollie would chivvy his cohorts into cutting the wood into fireplace-sized billets. That would keep everyone busy, too busy to start worrying about a Kryptonian in their home town.

Ollie started passing out chainsaws. Fortunately, he and Clark had "liberated" a number of gasoline containers, and filled them as well. Oliver turned to the gawking crowd. "Well? Who else wants wood for the winter?"

Clark stood, unsure what to do with his hands. No pockets in the Suit to put them in, unfortunately. He settled for folding them across his chest and gazing amusedly at the crowd.

A woman slowly raised her hand. The haunted look in her eyes reminded Clark of Martha – the Martha of this world, not his mother. Everyone else in the crowd turned to look at her. Raising her hand seemed to be the limit of her courage, for she said nothing. Oliver stepped forward again, bluff and confident. "Angela? OK. Let's show Kal-El where your house is."

Oliver took Angela's arm in his, and walked swiftly and confidently. Clark followed, and then, like lemmings, the rest of the crowd followed _him. _They went a short distance – everyone seemed to want to live close to each other – and Clark nodded. "Wait here for me," he said, and spiraled upward.

It didn't take long to pull out another tree and ferry it back to town, setting it carefully on Angela's property. He wondered if she was married or if she had children. Hard to say, but right now, at least, she seemed alone.

Again, Clark lopped off the branches and stacked them as neatly as possible. He idly wondered how much drying would be necessary before the wood became burnable. It wouldn't happen overnight, that was for sure.

Lois came forward, carrying a chainsaw. And Chloe was right behind her with the gas can. Martha carried boxes of safety goggles and ear protection – Clark had refused to bring the chainsaws without them. He was the only invulnerable one, he'd said rhetorically.

Lois ceremonially offered the chainsaw to Angela. She hesitantly took it. That seemed to be Oliver's cue. He stood on a step and addressed the crowd.

"OK, everyone, we've got Kal-El for one day. He's agreed to bring everyone a tree to cut up with delivery right to your front yard, before he cleans up the lake. So, if you want the wood, take one of these – " Oliver pulled out a lurid bunch of tiny bright-orange flags, the kind that companies used to mark the path of utility lines prior to excavating in the area. "- and put them where you want it delivered." He lowered his voice. "Remember, we only have Kal-El for one day. He's gone after that. Take your opportunity now." His confident voice assured the crowd that this was a deal that couldn't be missed.

Gee, Ollie was a good salesman, thought Clark. Because, after a little nervous shuffling and sidelong glances at Clark, each member of the crowd took a tiny banner.

"Kal-El?" Oliver asked.

Clark nodded, acknowledging.

"You bring the trees. You can start on this street. Right, Pedro?"

Pedro gave an incoherent mumble at being singled out in front of the alien.

"We'll handle the sawing. You deliver the wood." Oliver said it with a smile that drew a matching smile from Clark. "On your way, then."

Clark chuckled as he lifted off. Oliver had _leader_ written all over him. Maybe Clark should take some lessons.

* * *

It didn't take long to hand-deliver trees to the town. As Clark flitted back and forth, he saw that Ollie and some town leaders had organized everyone into several groups. People switched around the exhausting job of chain-sawing the thick trunks, alternating with the "pick up and stack wood" group. For some of the very thick trees, they had to cut from both sides with the chain saws and Kal-El would sever the center section.

Once he'd gotten ahead of the woodcutters, Clark turned his attention to the debris jammed up against the dam wall. Some of the trees had been submerged for years. They would be poor candidates for firewood. There was a lot of plastic debris trapped amidst the clot, and even two houseboats. Clark carefully untangled the surrounding trees and then gently lifted the boats and carried them to the nearest open anchorage.

He looked at the sun and sighed. Time was passing all too quickly, and he hadn't made a lot of progress on clearing the mess. He shifted into quicktime, and worked without stopping.

Fortunately there was a visitor's parking lot, made for dam viewers. Clark took it over. Wood debris _here._ (Trees carefully sectioned and stacked.) Plastic debris _here._ Possibly reusable detritus _here_. And, as far off as possible from the other sections, skeletons and bodies _here_.

He stepped onto the water's surface to grab a particularly slippery branch. He sighed again as he felt cold water fill his farm boots. Not that he'd get athlete's foot or anything. It was just that the wet boots were uncomfortable. And then he'd have to oil them when they dried. _Maybe Ollie is right about new boots, _Clark thought. _Something calf-high? _

* * *

I looked around at the bustling scene. Clark – no, here he was _Kal-El_ – had come every few minutes, bearing a tree which he'd deposit in someone's yard. He'd use his heat vision to laser it into chunks and then he'd spring into the sky once again. Small gangs of Lake Shasta residents would then attack the tree, sawing it into logs, stacking the wood for drying, and gathering up the small burnable bits.

His descent from the heavens was astounding… amazing… unearthly. Especially now that he wore clothing in the Kryptonian style. He should have looked stupid – and from his mutters, I thought Clark did think that. But when he flew, when he hovered in mid-air, when he glided slowly downward, bearing a burden too great for any human, he didn't look stupid. He looked majestic. The cape fluttered in the breeze, emphasizing his one-ness with the wind. The emblem on his chest caught the eye.

"He's doing a good job of building the brand identity," I said softly to Lois as we stood together at a jug of water, stopping for a short break.

She looked at me and laughed. "I guess you could say that." She was silent for a moment. "You know, if you'd have told me five years ago what I'd be doing today…"

"I'd have said you were crazy," I finished. "Flying guys…"

"I remember wearing that symbol," Lois said, reminiscing. "We were against Zod. It was, you know, the enemy of my enemy?"

"Uh-huh."

"And then Kal-El shows up, it's really his House symbol… I have to tell you, when I first captured him, I never thought we'd end up where we are right now."

"Are you happy?" I didn't know why I had asked it. Certainly I wasn't. The demons in my past woke me up too many nights, sweating in the grip of nightmare.

Lois stared off into the distance. "This is going to sound crazy, Martha, but, yeah. Yes. I think I am." She turned to me. "The world as we knew it is destroyed, I'm here on the west coast trying to organize ourselves to rebuild – which I may add, is like herding cats – and we've got a Kryptonian flying around. I always swore I'd see them all dead."

"I always hoped they would be. Dead, that is."

"Only one left," Lois said practically. "But, in answer to your question, yes. I have my life. I have someone to love. I have a job to do." She gave me an impish smile. "And I get to meet really interesting people. Like you." She looked up into the sky. Clark was descending, with another tree. The town would be well-stocked with firewood for the next two years, the rate he was going. Of course, it would have to dry out first. "And him." Her eyes transfixed me. "You've been with him. What's he like, Martha?"

_Well, he's been a nice guy so far. He moves fast. He's very strong. He's saved my life at least twice, probably more. Even when it really hurt him. But he's Kryptonian. He has those powers. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. _

"He likes tomatoes," I managed to choke out.

"Tomatoes?"

"Yep."

* * *

Clark stepped out of the shower, weary. He'd had a full day. The Suit had made its debut. He'd successfully cleaned up the clot of trees, trash, boats, and other debris that had threatened the Shasta Dam. He'd supplied the town of Shasta Lake with firewood. And he'd… he'd…

He'd been a crematory. That was something he tried to push to the back of his mind.

When he'd worked on clearing the lake, he'd found several bodies amidst the debris. Most were reduced to skeletons; the lake's fish had obviously survived the thirty-month winter. He'd found a few mummified corpses in the abandoned houseboats, probably dead of disease. He'd carefully laid them out on the shore, not too far from the dam, and wondered what to do.

In the end, he'd gone and asked Oliver. Then, at Oliver's request, he'd brought the remains to a small churchyard in the town. Oliver had put out a call for a clergyman. No one responded, so Oliver took matters into his own hands. He found a prayer book and read the service for the dead from it. The town members had stood quietly throughout, eyes mostly downcast, but with many sideward glances at Clark, where he stood in the Suit, arms folded, solemn, respectful of the moment. Even his wet boots and muddied Suit seemed to fit the mood.

He'd felt the sense of finality, the air of acknowledgement of grief, the feeling that this funeral served as a microcosm for all of the losses suffered by all of the town members. Everyone in the crowd was ready to move on. It had been a devastating three years. But they were here, they were alive, they were ready to move on. They would remember their dead and go forward.

And, at the end of the service, Clark had done what Oliver had asked of him, when they talked quietly by the dam. He'd stepped forward and focused his heat vision, cremating the bodies. He wished he hadn't now, that he'd dug graves instead. As the bodies had turned to ash, he'd felt the mood of the town shift. There had been a cautious optimism – _maybe this guy isn't so bad after all_ – and then, as the bodies burned, the townspeople had looked at him with fear again.

He wasn't looking forward to the upcoming party. But Lois had made it clear that he had to attend. Especially since, during his search for Suit materials yesterday, he'd come across an un-looted Costco, eighty miles away in Chico. Oliver had kept him busy ferrying stuff back to Shasta Lake while Martha worked on the Suit.

And so, tonight, they were going to have a Spam-fest. Clark's father, accustomed to farm-fresh food, had always derided the tinned pork shoulder, calling "Spam" an acronym for "Substance Posing As Meat". But then again, Jonathan Kent had never been in the townspeople's situation.

So they were going to have a bonfire, and a feast, and a wake for those who had died, and a sort of celebration for those who were going on, the living. There would be alcohol, and people would stay up late.

Clark sighed at the thought of the conversation lapsing as he approached, the expressionless faces, the frantic sideways glances. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. He laughed bitterly. He had no choice. He was stuck on this world. He would have to get used to it. At least no one here was likely to try to kill him.

"Clark? You ready?" Chloe called.

Well, he wasn't, but a burst of super-speed fixed that. Except for his farm boots, which were still wet. Clark winced and focused a beam of heat vision on them. The steam rose up. He'd have to be sure to get some neats-foot oil and work it into the leather, to keep it supple. "Um, yeah."

He descended the staircase. Chloe impatiently tapped her foot. Oliver and Lois had already gone out, and Martha had followed shortly thereafter. Clark had a feeling that Chloe was only waiting to make sure that he came. She knew he was very likely to just avoid the party and stay up in Oliver and Lois's guest bedroom.

"Well, if you're ready, let's go!" Chloe tugged at his arm.

"OK." Clark wondered if he should say, _Gee, you look nice. _But he choked the words back. He wasn't going to think of Chloe that way. He didn't notice her as a woman. Not this Chloe, anyway. Now, if it had been his own Chloe… or, technically, he should say, the Chloe in his own universe – he would have said it in a heartbeat. The longer he was away, the more he realized what an idiot he'd been, not showing his Chloe everything he felt for her.

Of course, his Chloe wasn't married to Lex Luthor. This Chloe was. So there was no way. No way at all.

She pulled him out the doorway, onto the street. Sparks spiraled into the sky as a figure tossed another log (thoughtfully heat-visioned dry by Clark earlier today, after his lake work was finished) onto the fire. "Well? Let's get some food."

He followed Chloe over to a table, laden with Spam slices and other things. He was glad to see that the people here had managed to grow things. In fact, it looked as if they were well on the way back to self-sufficiency. Of course, a large proportion of the food was preserved stuff from the Costco warehouse, but even that was less than half the total. Clark felt no qualms as he filled up a plate – they had plenty. That was one good thing.

He stood around, nibbling. Fragments of conversation drifted by, Clark hearing them despite not using his abilities.

"…did you see how he flew down carrying those trees!"

"…they said he brought the food…there's more in Chico, we'll have to mount an expedition…." "That's eighty miles away!" "So what?"

"… does anyone know what that symbol on his chest means?"

"… the colors are awfully bright." "It's not what I expected of a Kryptonian. Zod always dressed in black."

"…the cape is cool!" Clark snapped his head to one side at this, seeing a pair of boys, a red towel tucked into their shirt collars, zooming around the street, arms outstretched. He smiled inwardly. He'd been unsure about the cape.

"Clark?" He brought his eyes back to Lois. "I'd like you to meet Bob. He's our dam engineer. Clark, Bob. Bob, Clark." She drifted away.

Clark extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you." He waited for the usual hesitation, the flinch back.

The other man didn't hesitate. He shook Clark's hand casually, as if he shook hands with a Kryptonian every day. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Uh… um, I came from Metropolis with Chloe and Martha. You met them?" Clark gestured with his plate-free hand.

"Yeah, I talked with them a little bit today." Bob seemed dismissive of the women. He leaned forward. "So, if you're from Metropolis too, have you seen the Kryptonian?"

Clark stared in amazement. "Uh…"

Bob took another swig of his drink. "What's he like, really?"

Clark finally realized it. Bob had no idea that Clark and Kal-El were the same person. Clark was amazed. How could Bob not see it? He'd just told Bob that he came from Metropolis. Oliver had told the crowd that Kal-El had come from Metropolis. Clark hadn't worn a mask. The only thing he'd done was change his clothes, and his hair. He'd slicked back his hair when it had gotten wet from the lake water.

On the other hand, Bob was an engineer. And engineers were notoriously clueless.

A smile stole over Clark's face. He made a bet with himself. How far could he take this? "Well, so far he's been an OK guy…" He chatted with Bob for awhile, saying good things about his Kal-El identity. Bob left after a few minutes to mingle elsewhere, and Clark stood back, observing the crowd.

Martha wandered over. Clark couldn't help telling her incredulously, "Martha. I just had an entire conversation with Bob over there, and he didn't see I was Kal-El."

"Really?"

"Really."

"He wasn't just funnin' you?" Martha had had a little alcohol.

Clark considered. "I don't think so. He asked me all sorts of questions about "the Kryptonian." And he didn't act scared."

Martha got a smile on her face. "He didn't pay attention to the boots."

Clark looked down at his muddy farm boots. "Apparently not."

Martha smiled again. "This could be interesting." She took Clark by the elbow and dragged him over to where Chloe, Lois, and Oliver had gathered. "Oliver, you should fire Bob. He just talked with Clark for ten minutes and didn't realize he was Kryptonian. After seeing him fly all afternoon."

"I can't fire Bob. We need him. And not everyone is as observant as you are, Martha."

"I think it's the costume," Lois blurted out.

"What?"

"Well, you know, when he's wearing that spandex, people aren't looking at his face." Chloe and Martha tried to restrain titters and gave up. Lois began guffawing.

"Very funny," Clark said, blushing.

Martha got a calculating look. "I've got an idea. Clark, I want you to go around and speak with every person at this party."

"Um, OK… but why?"

"I'm betting that most of them won't identify you as Kal-El."

Oliver raised his eyes. "Martha, he was in their sight almost all day."

"Yes, but."

"But what?"

"If you'd been at as many trials as I have, you'd know that eyewitness testimony is notoriously flawed. Sherlock Holmes said it. 'People see, but they do not _observe_.'" She turned back to Clark. "So you go and have at least a five-minute conversation with everyone. No using the powers." She turned back to Chloe, Lois, and Oliver. "And you, you, and you, don't say anything. He's just Clark Kent."

Oliver nodded. After a minute, Chloe and Lois followed suit.

"Well?" Martha asked. "What are you waiting for?" She pushed Clark slightly and he obediently joined the crowd at the buffet table. He extended his hearing, curious to learn what Martha had to say.

"I'd be interested to know how many of my townspeople are observant," Oliver said neutrally.

"_You _are, and Lois is, and Chloe too," Martha said. "I think the brand identity thing for Kal-El is going to work out better than we thought it would. People are focusing on that. The Suit really helps. In fact…." She took another sip of her drink.

"What?" Ollie asked.

"In fact, if everybody didn't already know, I bet I could get a whole second identity going for him. There would be Kal-El, and there would be Clark Kent, and they'd be two different people."

_What a great idea! _ Clark thought. He stood in the buffet line and smiled at the woman ahead of him. "So, what did you think of today's events?" he asked her.

* * *

Clark held Chloe and me firmly as we soared through the skies, headed back to Metropolis base. I enjoyed the scenery. The aerial view never failed to please.

"I can't believe it. Not one person said anything about me being Kal-El."

"Yeah, and it's not like you didn't drop hints," Chloe put in. "Saying that you came from Metropolis with me and Martha… saying that you were friends with Kal-El… geez, could people be any more blind?"

"Are you sure people weren't just humoring you?" I asked.

"Martha, when I meet someone and they know what, um, who I am, they always get nervous. I can detect that." Of course he could. "Nobody had that reaction. Nobody."

Chloe snickered. "Lois was right."

"What?" Clark and I asked simultaneously.

"It's the Suit. When you wear the spandex, Clark, people aren't looking at your face."


	23. Chapter 23

_Several months later_

"So how is the Suit working out, Clark?" Perry asked cheerfully. He must have figured it was a good time to ask. After all, Clark had one arm clamped around him and the other arm around me as he flew us to Australia. There wasn't much scenery – just the unending blue of the Pacific Ocean. Conversation was a good idea - other in-flight entertainment was lacking.

"It's good," Clark replied. "Actually, Perry, it's working out better than I thought."

"Better?" Perry chuckled. When he'd first seen the Suit, just like Oliver, he'd burst out laughing.

"I think it really helps, you know, in terms of giving people a signal. When I'm in the Suit I'm going to do something, well, alien. So I wear Kryptonian costume for that. I'm Kal-El."

Reflexively I muttered, "The good alien."

"The good alien," Clark repeated with a smile. "And then when I wear blue jeans, I'm just Clark Kent." He put on a little speed and I saw land approaching rapidly. Or, rather, we were approaching Australia rapidly. I figured we had to be going faster than the speed of sound. Why we could hold a conversation in these conditions was a mystery. Well, I knew it was due to Clark's aura, but how _that_ worked was a mystery.

"It's the cognitive dissonance," I said. "Seeing Clark Kent do those, um, crazy things – it's just scary. Seeing Kal-El do them is ho-hum."

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "The only trouble is that I find I'm referring to myself in the third person sometimes." He touched down. I stepped away from his firm grip. Despite the fact that I trusted Clark enough now to fly with him, I still felt relieved when I was safely on the ground.

"How does that cape work, anyway?" Perry asked.

"Well, it's got straps," Clark started. "It's too heavy to hang from the neck – uncomfortable that way, you know? And…" He turned. "Do you hear something?"

"No," Perry and I said simultaneously.

Clark's head lifted. I stared at him. "What?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he blurred away. I felt a tinge of annoyance mixed with alarm. I was annoyed because he'd been doing a good job of avoiding the vanishing in front of me. He knew how much it bothered me when he moved faster than I could see. Strange. I could handle the flying, but the vanishing gave me the creeps.

I was alarmed, because what possible worry could there be, here in the middle of Australia? Here, near Uluru – more commonly known to my generation as Ayers Rock – we were literally out in the middle of nowhere**. **The majestic rock rose from the surrounding flatland, totally incongruous. If I hadn't known it had been there for thousands of years, I would have suspected a Kryptonian had played some sort of prank and deposited it there.

"Where's Clark?" Perry asked.

"I don't know," I said, irritated. "He disappeared. Literally." I wiped the sweat off my face. We had set down under what had been some shade trees, but they, along with so much else, had died during the three-year winter. Maybe we were in the Southern Hemisphere winter, but here in the outback it was still hot during the daytime. I wondered if it had been this hot here before. Earth's climate still suffered from the Kryptonian meddling.

Perry came and stood next to me. "This isn't like Clark."

"Yeah. He's usually here for the picnic part. The food part." His absence _was _unusual. In the past few months, we'd set up a routine. It was Thursday lunch. Clark took Perry and me somewhere – anywhere - in the world, always far away from Metropolis and its broken towers. And having three people minimized awkward pauses in the conversation. It helped that Perry wasn't intimidated by Clark in the least (or if he was, he didn't show it), unlike me. Even though I'd been going on lunches with Clark for months, I still had occasional panic attacks, especially when Clark used the powers.

Clark would fly us somewhere sunny and warm. We'd have a picnic. Clark would discreetly absent himself for a short time, and Perry and I would…chat. Then Clark would fly us home, all of us relaxed, rejuvenated and ready to face another week.

In fact, as I thought on it, his actions seemed even more abnormal. Clark would fly us wherever we planned to go, but then he'd whizz out of the garish Suit, sit back with a smile and let Perry and me set up the picnic and break out the food. I'd thought about chiding him about his masterly inactivity, but then realized I didn't have a case. After all, I wasn't the one providing the transport.

But Clark would usually sit around and give "constructive" suggestions on the proper placement of the picnic blanket and dishes. Perry would growl at him, mockingly threaten to fire him. Clark would only laugh, and lounge even more blatantly. His behavior was totally opposite to that of the hard-working, conscientious Clark that we saw every other day of the week. Perhaps that was the picnic's allure. Clark could lie back and do nothing, just for once. He didn't have to perform some super feat or transport someone somewhere.

Perhaps making a point, Clark wouldn't get up and come to the "table" till all the food was ready for eating. I had to give him credit, though. When the appropriate time came, he did warm up the hot dishes with the heat vision, and he did cool down the drinks with the freezing breath, two very nice abilities to bring to a picnic.

So for him to disappear like this was very much out of character and more than a little worrisome. Clark was sensitive to our feelings (mostly my feelings – Perry didn't bat an eye) and his situation, and he always told us what he was going to do before he did it, or used his powers in such a minimal way that they could be dismissed.

I suddenly realized how very isolated we were. Distance meant nothing to Clark, but if he left us, we were stuck here in the middle of Australia. Not only that, but stuck here in the middle of the outback, hundreds of miles away from the nearest city. And all the Australian cities were empty. We were oceans away from North America, currently the only inhabited continent. The sun shone down mercilessly. I felt even hotter.

I got up and walked to the other side of the grove, into what passed for shade. I shaded my face with my hand and looked out. No sign of Clark. I walked out about five hundred yards, out into the open. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing around but the majestic rock. The world was eerily quiet, with nothing but the sighing of the wind in a wide-open emptiness you could feel. Strangely, it made me feel claustrophobic, as if I were shut up in a small room.

Sand crumbled at my feet and I stumbled. I put my hands out to steady myself. Pain lanced through my right hand. I knelt, watching the blood drip from shallow laceration on my palm. A glint caught my eye. I pushed away the sand to find an oddly shaped crystalline rock, now stained with my blood. I stared at it for a moment – I had never been a rock hound, but this looked interesting. Fascinating, even.

I shoved it into my pocket as I trudged back to Perry. I needed to wash out the cut. We had some paper napkins packed with our picnic - maybe I could cover it with that. We didn't have any bandages with us.

Perry helped me wash, cleaning the wound solicitously. Did he hold my hand just a smidgen too long? I drew in a deep breath.

Clark whooshed down at that moment, still in the Suit.

"And where were you?" I demanded.

"I thought I heard something." Clark seemed almost evasive. Then he caught sight of my hand. "What happened, Martha?" He'd gone into his "protect Martha" mode. I recognized the tone.

"Oh, I tripped and fell and cut my hand on a rock," I said dismissively.

"Are you OK?"

"I'll be fine." A curt silence fell. Clark looked like a kicked puppy for a minute. I couldn't stand it.

"Actually, the rock was kind of unusual….It looks volcanic to me. Not that I'm a geologist or anything."

"That's interesting," Perry mused. "The middle of Australia is hardly tectonically active. Some of the world's oldest fossils, like the Ediacara fauna, come from Australia, because nothing has disturbed the geologic strata for billions of years." That was Perry. He had a whole library of trivial-but-surprisingly-useful facts squirreled away in his head. "Can I see this rock?"

"Sure." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the chunk. My blood had smeared all over the fist-sized rock and obscured its odd color.

Clark drew in a deep breath. "Can I see it too?" He shifted from foot to foot.

"_May _I see it?"

Perry looked up from his examination. "Grammar. Always grammar. _Daily Planet _reporters need grammar."

Clark sighed. "OK, _may _I see it, _please_?"

"Sure." Perry handed him the rock.

Clark took it in his hand. He stiffened. He raised his hands to his ears, wincing.

"What?" Perry and I asked simultaneously.

His expression changed. I shivered. No longer friendly and animated, his face became mask-like.

"I have to go now," Clark mumbled dully.

_"What?" _ Perry and I asked again.

"I have to go now." For a minute, his face cleared and his eyes brightened. He looked confused. Then the mask descended again. He turned away.

"Clark!" I almost screamed it.

He looked up. "I have to go now," he said blankly. He turned his gaze back to his hands, the hands that rubbed the rock cradled in them.

Worry coiled through my gut. This wasn't the usual Clark, the friendly and somewhat diffident young man I'd gotten to know over the past year. This Clark seemed almost an automaton. I saw him tense as if to spring up and take flight – I knew that gesture well.

"Wait!" I screamed now. He hesitated. I could see the indecision in his eyes. He wanted to fly away. He seemed to forget about us unless I kept his attention every second.

I stepped closer to him, motioning Perry to come near as well. I could see the glint of crystal in Clark's hands, his fingers nervously running up and down whatever it was he held. A sharp fear stabbed through me. Now, minus my blood covering its surface, what he was holding looked horribly familiar.

I pushed my fears down with the ruthless concentration I'd learned in a hard school. If Clark left, we were dead. Those were the facts. We couldn't survive alone out here in the outback. If he was thinking of leaving, we'd better leave with him.

"Clark!" I called again, when his attention seemed to be turning again to the crystal he held. And, oh God, it looked like a Kryptonian crystal….

I stepped into his arm and motioned Perry to do the same. Perry, bless him, didn't hesitate. "Take us with you."

Clark met my eyes in surprise and for just a moment I saw the Clark I knew. He glanced from me to Perry, then at his hand.

"I'll hold it," I said imperiously, wordlessly demanding the object.

Bless the other Martha Kent, the one who raised him. Clark grimaced, but obediently put the object into my hand. I shuddered. It _was_ a Kryptonian crystal. How had I missed this before? Why hadn't I recognized it? Some would see it as just an oddly-shaped crystalline ovoid. I knew differently.

As Clark handed over the crystal, his eyes cleared. He clasped his arms around Perry and myself, and asked, "Ready?" It was his usual voice. But he didn't wait for the answer, lifting off before either of us could say a word. Staring into his expressionless face, I saw the light fade from his eyes. He was the automaton again.

He flew much faster with us than he ever had before. Australia receded underneath us. I saw the entire continent as Clark soared to high altitude. I gasped for breath and felt my heart pounding. I shot a panicked look at Perry. His head was down and I saw him gasping too.

"Clark, Clark!" I called tugging at him. He didn't respond. His arm was an iron band around my waist. The wind whistling past us became uncomfortable. I chanced a look down and saw ice-covered Antarctica. Whatever Clark was doing, he must have felt that flying south was the way to go. The wind grew faster and my eyes teared.

"Tuck your head in!" Perry called. I nodded to show I'd heard him, and turned my face inward to Clark's chest. I saw Perry do the same. I hunched up and grabbed a fold of his cape, hoping Perry would think of that too. Thank God Clark had accepted the cape. And I hoped with all my heart that Clark's aura would protect us. _Would _it? He'd said he had to think about it, make it an act of will, otherwise the aura only extended a few millimeters from his body when he flew his fastest. He was flying pretty darn fast. And it didn't look like he was thinking much.

Oh no, what if that crystal had taken over his brain? What if it turned him like the other Kryptonians had been? We'd have to kill him. A devastating sense of loss swept through me. Somehow, without my realizing it, over the past months Clark had become a friend.

I straightened myself as best I could and raised my chin. If we had to kill him to save ourselves, we would. We'd defeated three Kryptonians before. We knew how to handle them. We could handle one Kryptonian now.

_But you and Perry are in his grasp right now, _that annoying inner voice told me. _There's no way you can escape. _I pushed those thoughts down deep. We'd be OK. Everything was going to turn out all right. It's important to tell yourself that, especially at the worst times, I told myself. Because, then, maybe it _will _turn out all right.

Clark seemed to be slowing. I took a chance and moved my head a little, looking down. Now we flew over South America. It looked just like the picture in the atlas. It disappeared behind us at a fantastic rate. We crossed over Central America, up past Mexico. We followed the continental divide, the mountains more heavily snow-capped now than they'd ever been in my lifetime.

We flew, and I saw the trees disappear, the green of the tundra give way to ice and snow. We had flown from pole to pole in five minutes or less. We were definitely slowing down now. Clark arrowed in and came to a gentle landing.

He released his arms and I staggered. The wind whipped past. I thought it had been bad when we flew, but here, without Clark's aura to protect us, it was a beast attacking us. We'd been dressed for an Australian summer, not the Arctic winter. My exposed skin became numb immediately. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.

Clark strode a few steps and scrabbled in the ice. I saw his eyes glow red, and then a tendril of steam curled up. Clark reached into the boiling water he'd made and pulled out a glittering object. It was about the same size as the crystal I held, and it had the same eerie glow. Then Clark scrabbled in his pocket. Deep unease curled through my gut when I saw he held another stone, different in shape but of similar composition.

"Uh-oh," I muttered. Things weren't looking good. Three Kryptonian crystals – he had two, I had one.

Clark stepped toward me, menacing. I saw no hint of the Clark I knew in the stern eyes of this frightening figure.

He said something. I recognized it as Kryptonian speech.

"I don't understand."

Clark moved even closer to me and growled, "Give it to me." He wanted the crystal I held.

I moved my hands behind my back. "No." I stared up at him. His face blank, his eyes dull. This _definitely_ was not the Clark I knew.

He loomed over me. Good heavens, what was I thinking? He grabbed my arm, and inexorably forced it forward. My resistance was futile. I could feel his power. He could break my arm. I wailed inside. I knew he would force me sooner or later. But I reached for courage. I wasn't the frightened Martha I'd been. I could fight back.

My thoughts were quick as my hand seemed to move in slow motion. I'd have one chance at this. Clark held his two crystals in his left hand, while his right brought my arm forward. I suddenly stopped my resistance, stopped pulling, and _pushed. _My hand shot forward as I surprised Clark, and I jabbed at the crystals he held, trying to knock them out of his hand.

For one long moment, we each had a hand on all three crystals.

Then there was a wordless shout. I was pushed backward, falling on my rear end. The same happened to Clark. I saw Perry, gaping, just like myself, as the three Kryptonian crystals floated in midair. Then they melted together, the eerie glow rising to an almost painful intensity. Before the intense light forced me to look away, I saw that they had formed an irregular geometrical solid – a three-dimensional irregular pentagon. They had fused into the shape of a shield, bearing the symbol of the House of El.

The glowing geometric solid spun in the air, and dropped, point first, into the icy land beneath. Silence reigned.

Then I heard a low rumble. The ground beneath me shook. I stared at Perry, wide-eyed.

"Oh, sh*t!" I heard Clark mutter. I had never heard Clark swear before. With one of those too-quick-to-see motions, he grabbed me and Perry again. And suddenly we were at least a mile away from where the crystal had dropped into the ice. I heard another rumble, and felt the ground move again.

He let us go and I stumbled. I lost my temper and turned to face him.

"What the hell was that?" I stood with hands on hips, angry, paying no attention to my freezing feet. Clark looked away, abashed. For a minute I saw his eyes – they were alive again. Automaton Clark was gone. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

He ignored my question. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Did I hurt either of you?" _Now _he cared. Yahoo. The ground rumbled again. Clark stepped to me and put his hand gently on my arm. "Martha, I – "

It was the incredulous expression on Perry's face that tipped me off. I turned and saw it arise.

Crystalline girders erupted from the ice, forming angles no human architect would ever design. Brilliant shards, growing from nothing, became structural beams. A twenty-foot tall doorway came into existence as a seemingly natural part of the growing formation. Chunks of ice pattered down around us as the low rumbling increased to an incredible roar. It was a giant alien polylith coming into being on Earth's soil.

Clark moved again and I saw him deflect a bounding ice boulder that would have crushed me. The ground shook and I almost fell to my knees. A gusty wind swept by us, and he stood in front of Perry and myself, extending his arms and holding out his cape. I saw the tiny ice pebbles vaporize in front of him and understood that he was melting them with his heat vision. The needle-sharp particles abraded our exposed skin, and Perry and I automatically moved closer together, standing behind Clark as he protected us.

The rumbling died away. The wind diminished to what seemed to be a normal breeze for this area. Clark cautiously lowered his arms, turning to face us. Was he going to ask if we were all right?

I saw it. Complete, it stood there in Earth's Arctic, grown of Earth's ice and soil, but it was not _of_ Earth. It was profoundly _alien._

And it meant that Clark had betrayed us.

Perry whistled. He stared at the structure in awe. "What the hell is _that_?"

I knew. And from Clark's guilty expression, he knew too.


	24. Chapter 24

_From the previous chapter:_

It was the incredulous expression on Perry's face that tipped me off. I turned and saw it arise.

Crystalline girders erupted from the ice, forming angles no human architect would ever design. Brilliant shards, growing from nothing, became structural beams. A twenty-foot tall doorway came into existence as a seemingly natural part of the growing formation. Chunks of ice pattered down around us as the low rumbling increased to an incredible roar. It was a giant alien polylith coming into being on Earth's soil.

* * *

_And now, the next chapter:_

Appalled, I saw it, the strange ice castle on the arid freezing plain. Complete, it stood there in Earth's Arctic, grown of Earth's ice and soil, but it was not _of_ Earth. It was profoundly _alien._

And it meant that Clark had betrayed us.

Perry whistled. He stared at the structure in awe. "What the hell is _that_?"

I knew. And from Clark's guilty expression, he knew too.

"It's the alien Fortress," I said bleakly. "It's Kryptonian." I kept my eyes on Clark's. My stomach dropped. All my doubts rushed back, worse now at the thought that I had ever trusted him. Rage coursed through me, quickly followed by fear. What would he do? I could only hope he would make it quick and painless. I felt most sorry for Perry. He hadn't known better. He'd allied himself with Clark because he'd trusted me. And because I trusted Clark, Perry believed that Clark could be trusted. Now he would die up in the frozen North with me, and Clark would…..

I looked away, trembling. But before I did, I caught an expression on Clark's face – was it disappointment?

"_That's _something you don't see every day," Perry muttered, not paying attention to my words. I almost laughed. Perry, always on the track of the story, always the newsman. What a story this would make – if he was allowed to live to print it. How the Kryptonians re-established their dominion over Earth….

I took a step and winced at the cold. Then I felt something in my pocket and smoothed my face into practiced immobility as hope rushed through me.

I still had kryptonite. Yes, it was bagged in a lead-lined pouch. But as long as Clark didn't stop me, if I could get the time to undo the wrapping, I could take him down. I could save the Earth. I shivered again. God, it was cold here. And open-toed sandals and a sundress weren't really appropriate wear. My toes were numb already. I hoped Perry was faring a little better – a business suit and oxfords might stave off the cold for longer.

Clark caught me shivering. "Martha?" He didn't even ask before bathing my feet in his heat vision. And then the big lug was sitting down on the ice, stripping off his boots and socks. Why wasn't he heading for the Fortress?

"Here, put these on," Clark urged me. "It's too cold out here for you. You'll get frostbite." When I stared at him, doing nothing, he must have decided that the cold had affected my judgment. He went into one of those incomprehensible blurs. I felt movement at my feet, and when I looked down, I was wearing Clark's socks and boots. And he must have given the socks a heat-vision treatment first, because they were toasty warm.

I shivered again, but not at the cold. He moved so fast….if he found out what I planned, he could have the kryptonite away from me just as quickly….I shuddered. Clark saw it, and pulled off his cape. He wrapped me in it. He'd warmed up the cape, too.

He turned to talk to the other member of our little party. "Perry," Clark began, "we've got to get to the Fortress." Perry stopped goggling at the Fortress and looked back at us. He actually smiled a little when he saw me wrapped in the cape and wearing Clark's boots.

"Not the best look on you, Martha," he murmured. That was Perry – he hid his own chill. I was grateful for the cape. It concealed my hands removing the kryptonite from my pocket and beginning to take off the lead wrapper.

Perry, bless him, had a little suspicion. "The Fortress? Hey, didn't those other Kryptonians have a Fortress…." He trailed off in dismay.

"Well, yes," Clark began in a level voice, stepping closer to Perry and farther from me, darn it, "but…."

Success. I pulled the kryptonite out of its covering and stepped closer to Clark. He gasped and staggered. But, to my horror, he didn't go down all the way. Those few steps he'd taken to get closer to Perry had made all the difference. Clark stumbled a few more steps away, faster than I could approach him. And as he got further away from the kryptonite, he regained strength. I walked forward and he danced backward, keeping out of the incapacitating radius. His eyes stared at me, wounded incomprehension in their depths.

"Martha?" he whispered.

"Nobody is going to that Fortress," I said bluntly. Inwardly I raged. I'd come _this _close to ending the threat. Now it was a standoff – but worse for me. Clark couldn't approach me, but he could certainly tip the balance in his favor in any number of ways. He could incinerate me from a distance. He could freeze me where I stood, although the ambient weather seemed to be doing that just fine. Or, most economically, he could just leave Perry and me standing out here on the icepack. We'd freeze. All he had to do was nothing. Just leave us here. I was ready to sacrifice myself to save the Earth. I hated to sacrifice myself for nothing.

"What?" Perry turned to me.

"What?" Clark echoed.

"Look at that. Look at that," I raged, gesturing with my hand that held the kryptonite. "It's the Fortress."

Perry heard the capital letters in the title.

"And?" he asked when I paused.

"Don't you get it?" I said. "That's the Fortress that Zod and the others used. It changed the Earth's climate. It supported and protected the Kryptonians. It has that kind of power."

Perry stared at it for a long time. He looked suspiciously at Clark.

"That's ridiculous!" Clark exclaimed, still watching me carefully, still matching his steps to mine.

"Is it?" I challenged him. "Tell me that anything I said there was a lie."

Perry raised his eyebrows, and looked back and forth at Clark and myself.

Clark ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He looked foolish, standing there in his skintight suit and bare feet. He sighed. "Nothing you said was a lie, Martha, but it wasn't the whole truth."

"What is the truth, Clark?" Perry asked quietly. He'd moved closer to me. I'd stopped walking, trying to get closer to Clark and bring him within the radius of kryptonite effectiveness. I finally figured out it was not going to happen that way. "The whole truth? Will you tell us?"

His grim expression made me hope Perry was seeing the light. I was reminded of the first-class journalist he had been, of his expertise in sniffing out liars, of his ability to distill the truth from a vat of falsehoods and obfuscations. "What is the truth, Clark?"

"It's complicated – " Clark stopped. "No, it's simple. Martha is right. The Fortress can do all those things. It did do all that." He drew in a deep breath. "It can also be used to help. It's a tool. Zod used it for evil. I would use it for good."

"_You _would use it?" Perry asked.

Clark shuffled his feet. "Well, uh, it probably belongs to me."

"Because you're the only Kryptonian left on the planet?"

"No. Because I melded the crystals that formed it."

I could see Perry was remembering, just like me, the unearthly way in which the smaller crystals had coalesced. Remembering the crystals merging and giving off the bright light of their union, melding into the not-quite-pentagonal symbol of the House of El. Once that symbol had served the Resistance as a rallying point – those who wore it fought against the rule of Zod. Now, Perry and I were the only ones who knew that it would become a symbol of a tyranny worse than Zod's.

"I did the same thing in my world," Clark continued. "I….found three Kryptonian crystals. I didn't know they were going to join until they did it. I was, um, up in the Arctic – "

There was something there he wasn't saying, that was for sure.

" – and I threw the joined crystal and the same thing happened. The Fortress grew." He smiled ruefully. "Except that it was a few miles away instead of right under our feet. Because I threw the crystal a few miles away instead of dropping it right here."

"So what did you do with the Fortress in your world?" Perry asked. I hadn't wondered that at all, and then wondered why I _hadn't_ wondered. Good question, Perry.

A flurry of expressions chased themselves across Clark's face. Awe, regret, anger, fear, exasperation. He finally smiled weakly and said, "I wasted it, mostly."

"Wasted it?"

"Among other things, it's a library of the collected knowledge of Krypton and the twenty-eight known galaxies."

I saw Perry stare off at the Fortress for a minute with absolute lust.

Clark went on. "But, um, for various reasons, I really didn't spend a lot of time there and I didn't learn a lot."

He noticed Perry and me shivering. "Hey, you've - we've got to get to warmth. That's why I want to get us to the Fortress."

Perry remained silent for a minute. I could tell he was turning over Clark's and my words in his head. "Why don't you warm us with your heat vision, instead?" Perry wasn't all that gullible. He, like me, saw something suspicious in Clark's desire to get us to the Fortress.

"Because I can't," Clark said bluntly. "I have to stay this far away. It'll dissipate." He stabbed me with a glance. "Martha pulled kryptonite on me."

Perry swung to me in surprise. "Kryptonite?"

I faced him squarely. "Clark could use that Fortress as a weapon."

"But I wouldn't!" Clark burst out. "God, this is so – " he bit back an expletive " – frustrating! It's been like that ever since I came to this world – I tell people I'm not going to hurt them, and they don't believe me! Perry," he said, turning slightly to face my companion, "just how do you prove a negative? How do I prove that I'm _not _going to do something?"

Perry shifted a little, and I felt a little twinge. Clark was right.

"You know me, Perry. And _you _know me, Martha," he went on. "Have I done anything since I got here to make you think I'd… do the things Zod did?" He clenched his fists in frustration. "I'm not that kind of person!"

Perry and I shared a glance. Clark was right, although I was just barely admitting it to myself. Unwanted, images of the last year arose – Clark saving me from a rapist at the cost of his own pain; Clark rescuing sailors from a storm-tossed ocean; Clark never seeming happier than when he was having a beer with the _Daily Planet _crowd, accepted as one of them.

"Martha," Clark said quietly, "what have I done? Why are you trying to kill me?" He said it quietly. It looked like he'd aged a million years.

"After Zod….after that, I swore I would die before I would let the Earth come under Kryptonian subjugation again."

Clark sighed. "OK. I can understand that. But, believe me, Martha – " he met Perry's glance, "Perry, there is no subjugation. There is no conquering." He took a deep breath and looked straight at me. "Don't you know that you scare me even now? Martha Clark, who lived through the invasion and everything that followed. Martha Clark, who's not even meta. Who made it through because of her courage and her brain."

I felt obscurely flattered.

"All protestations of innocence aside, don't you know that I respect you? Don't you know that I saw how a ragtag resistance took down Zod and Brainiac and Aethyr, starting from a much worse position than you're in now? You think I would go up against you? You must be crazy." Clark had almost started shouting.

"We wouldn't have made it without Kryptonian help. We couldn't fight the Kryptonians one-on-one."

"Martha," Clark said, "who _was _your Kryptonian help? Me. And Kara." Sadness crossed his face. "She's dead now. She gave her life fighting for you." He stood straighter. "I gave my word. To help. I've kept it." Pleadingly, he added, "I think you know my word is good."

He saw Perry and I shivering violently. "Please. Let me at least warm you up. You're freezing here."

Perry muttered, "That's right." He'd stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket, but the suit itself was grossly inadequate for the climate.

"Perry, please. If you come out here I'll warm you. Then you can hold the kryptonite and Martha can come out."

I saw Perry study Clark for a moment. "You don't want Martha to put the kryptonite away?"

"Of course I want that! But she has to do it on her own. I'm not going to take it away from her or anything like that. If she needs it to feel safe, then so be it." He grimaced. "But if we're going to get into a debate, you need to be warmed up. Then we can get back to our arguing."

Perry smiled just a bit. "OK." Then he stepped forward. He walked ten or fifteen feet from me, closer to Clark.

"A little closer," Clark urged.

Perry moved farther away from me and stood in front of Clark. His carefully cultivated impassivity didn't hide from me the fact that he was nervous. I'd managed to do that – make Perry fear Clark. Instead of feeling triumphant, I felt depressed and lonely.

Clark's eyes flashed red and I saw him fan his heat vision over Perry for several minutes. Perry's shivers died off. Clark's eyes turned their normal green color and Perry walked back to me.

"Martha?" Perry asked. I knew he was asking, _Will you go?_

How did this happen? It was supposed to be quick. I'd….use the kryptonite on Clark, and we'd end things cleanly. Now I had to negotiate and make decisions and it was chipping away at my careful rage and fear. And I was so cold. My teeth chattered and I hunched my shoulders, bringing my arms closer to my body.

The cold made my decision for me. "All right," I almost sobbed. I handed the kryptonite to Perry. I tried to walk to Clark, but my feet swam in his incredibly large boots. I almost stumbled.

"Stay there, Martha," Clark said quietly. Even from twenty feet away, I could see his earnest expression. "Perry, will you move back?"

Perry nodded. As he retreated, Clark advanced. He stood before me. I shivered with more than cold. I couldn't meet his eyes. I'd tried to kill him. Now I was putting myself in his power. I'd disarmed myself. _Please, make it quick. Don't leave me charred and alive. _

The heat vision came over me in a gentle waterfall. It chipped away at the cold, melted the hard outer shell, and tamed my shivers. I closed my eyes and undid my painful hunching. I heard Clark step closer.

"Why do you have to go to the Fortress?" I asked. My squeaky voice was a far cry from the stern positivity I'd used before.

Clark sighed. "I just have to."

"Can't you leave it and just walk away? Take us home?"

Clark smiled wanly. "Come on, Martha, you know that's not how it works. How would you know that I didn't fly back up here afterwards? I could do it, you know."

I did know. Running away from your problems sounded good but it never worked. I should have known better than to suggest it.

"Besides, now that it's here, I don't dare leave it."

"What do you mean?" Perry asked immediately.

"Look at this," Clark gestured around the surrounding sterile landscape. "No one here, right? Just us?"

Perry and I looked at each other and nodded.

"I just have this feeling, if we go away before we get to the Fortress and, I don't know, _claim _it, or make it ours somehow, that something bad will happen. Someone will drop out of the sky and take it over."

"Seems rather unlikely," Perry said.

"You're talking to an alien who was sent here from another galaxy. You mentioned _unlikely_?"

Perry had to smile. He shrugged. "Well, I guess I can't argue with that."

Clark turned back to me. He stepped closer and hesitantly gathered me in his arms, holding me close to his body. He waited for me to protest, and I didn't. He kept the heat vision going. I was warm on all sides now. "No, Martha, the only way is to go there. With you, so you can see what I'm doing." He drew in a deep breath. "Heck, Martha, I'm scared too. I don't know what's going to happen there."

"What happened in your other Fortress?" I asked.

I could feel Clark's shrug. "A lot of stuff. You know that Chinese curse, _May you live in interesting times? _ All I can say is that it was _interesting._"

"That doesn't sound very good," I mumbled. Tears ran down my face now. I was glad I'd pressed my face into Clark's chest so he couldn't see me.

"I know," Clark soothed me. "In fact, there're no better companions to have than you and Perry."

"For exploring an alien Fortress?" I sniffled.

"For anything," Clark said gently. "The other you raised me. I know how tough she – you are. And Perry and the you in this world, you lived through the invasion. You brought down the conquerors. You're rebuilding. You know what's right and not right." He raised his voice. "In fact, I have a favor to ask of you. Perry too."

I stepped back from him. "What?" Perry echoed me from fifteen feet away.

"You have the kryptonite. Keep it handy. If I do go bad – " Clark was deadly serious now – "take me down. That's what I'm asking." He drew in a deep breath. "You don't really _want_ to kill me, Martha, do you?"

I sighed and talked to his chest. "No, not really." I raised my eyes to his. "But I'll do what I have to do. I'll do what's right."

Clark nodded seriously. "I know. That's what makes you so dangerous." A moment of silence. "Here's the plan. You wrap up the kryptonite. I take us to the Fortress. You go in first, and unwrap the K. You can scout things out. I'll wait to come in till you give the word. Perry will follow me. OK?"

There were so many things wrong with this that I didn't know where to start. On the other hand, did I have a better idea? "OK," I mumbled.

"OK, then I'll let you go and step a ways off. You and Perry meet up and get the kryptonite back under lead, OK?" Clark sounded very soothing. He raised his voice. "Perry, did you get all that?"

Perry looked up from his hunched position. "What?"

Clark repeated the plan. As he did, he let me go. I immediately felt the cold. I tried to take a step but almost fell down.

Perry shouted, "OK," and began walking to me, fiddling with the lead and the kryptonite as he walked. In a few minutes he stood next to me. I pulled my hand out from a fold of the cape and took the K in hand. All covered. Hands numb, I almost dropped it. I nodded to Perry as I brought my arm back under the cape.

"All right!" Perry said.

Clark began walking slowly to us. He hesitated a little at what I assumed was the boundary of the kryptonite effects, but then pressed on again. He stood close to us, and I couldn't help feel better. Even with our situation, there was something about Clark's presence that made you feel that things were going to be all right.

"Ready?" he asked hesitantly. "We've done this before. I'll fly us to the Fortress." He seemed much more formal now. With all the traveling we'd done, he'd become quite casual about asking our permission to pick us up and take off, and we'd become equally casual about expecting it. Now, it seemed, we were back in the old uncomfortable days.

"OK." We both nodded. Clark stepped forward and grasped us, one hand around each waist, and we lifted off. I shivered. All he had to do was drop us and he'd have the Fortress, with no inconvenient witnesses. On the other hand, he could have killed us with the heat vision, and he hadn't. He wasn't holding me any differently than the way he usually did when he took me flying. I'd like to believe that he'd told me the truth, that we'd be safe. But the Fortress was such a prize…

Damn the cold. If I hadn't been so cold I could have thought of something, argued longer. But I was in the Arctic. As if to mock me, the cold abated as Clark's aura extended itself to protect us. He did that automatically now. I sighed in relief.

"Clark?" It was Perry. He didn't sound frightened at all right now, just interested.

"Yes?"

"Can you do a fly-over on the Fortress?"

"OK." Clark angled away from the colossal doorway and gained altitude. He soared above the structure.

"Wow…." Perry trailed off. "I wish I had a camera…."

I had to agree. Seen from far above, the ice lair had an ethereal beauty, looking like a palace from an alternate dimension fairyland.

Clark landed us gently near the entrance. I thought, suddenly, how odd my life had turned. I'd just been flying – sans aircraft – and here I was, about to enter the hidden Arctic fortress of an alien conqueror. Not something I'd ever expected back in my lawyer days. The whole surreal absurdity of the situation struck me and I almost laughed hysterically.

Clark wasn't sure what to make of my expression. Warily, he said, "OK, Martha, you go in, I'll come in after you, and Perry after me." He waited for my reply. I said nothing, still choking down half-laughs, half-sobs. Clark added slowly, "You have the kryptonite."

I stopped my inappropriate laughter as the reality sunk it. I did have the kryptonite. I might be forced to use it. How could I not? But Clark had played on my sympathies, had bought more time.

"I'm going in," I said stoutly. Clark and Perry stood back a little as I strode up to the mammoth door. There was no solid barrier, no oaken door buttressed with iron hinges and straps, no steel gateway with deadbolt locks. It was just a threshold. I hesitated for one infinitesimal moment before I stepped over the line.


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's note: I would like to extend my sincere appreciation to "L", whose beta work on this chapter has improved it immeasurably. I would also like to acknowledge my debt to her wonderful story, "Long Strange Trip", which was a major influence on this fic. "Long Strange Trip" can be found at the Lois and Clark Fanfic Archive, at LCFanfic dot com. Don't miss it. _

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There was a silver flash at the edges of my vision and then I was inside the Fortress. I looked back out through the entrance and saw the icy Arctic plain. The Fortress interior was no warmer than the tundra outside had been. I stared around at the jagged edges, the sharp crystals reflecting the pale Arctic sun. I shivered, not only from the cold. Memories skittered at the edges of my mind and I did my best to repress them.

I saw the control console and walked to it. It consisted of hollow tubes, some with oblong crystals inside, some empty. I stood next to it and looked up. The beams, meeting two hundred feet above my head, mocked my insignificance.

I shivered again. "It needs to be warmer here," I muttered. I thought about walking away from the console, farther into the Fortress, and then kicked myself. Clark would want to be at the console. I could deny him access. It wasn't much, considering he was going to enter the Fortress, but it was something. Clark could not be allowed to operate the console. To do so would likely doom the human race. I pulled out the kryptonite and opened its lead covering. I was ready.

"Come in!" I yelled, and waved at Clark. My voice failed and died against the sheer volume enclosed by the Fortress. But Clark caught my gesture. I saw him turn to Perry and warm him with the heat vision before he strode up to the door. Nausea churned in my gut. I'd tried my best, but I feared that inviting Clark in meant this structure would become "The Fortress of Domination" once again.

He hesitated longer than I had, and I felt a mean little twinge of triumph. Maybe I was braver. Then Clark stepped across the threshold.

A bluish curtain, a field of shimmering light, snapped into being, and Clark…._disappeared. _It was only for a second, then he was back again, walking steadily deeper into the Fortress. He prowled with a familiarity that amazed me at first. Then I realized. He had one of these in his own world. I wished I'd pinned him down about what he _had _done in his world with his Fortress.

Unwilllingly, I had to admit that he seemed a good guy – knowing him these months had taught me that about his essential character. He probably hadn't used _his _Fortress for genocidal amusements. Although, on the other hand, how could I be sure? Everything I knew about Clark in the other world was from what he had told me. Certainly he'd paint himself in the best possible light.

The way he walked reminded me of Zod. I shivered. Why hadn't I been braver, out there on the ice? The very crystals that made this place had turned Clark into a cold Kryptonian who wanted nothing more than to build the place. And he pursued that goal with a brutal single-mindedness. I thought back to his "give me the crystal" behavior and his flight, where Perry and I were mere afterthoughts. He could well have killed us. The fact he first demanded the crystal in Kryptonian made me very nervous. That part of his brain had been activated. His previous actions, and his prowling now, made me wonder – who is this? Clark, or Kal-El?

Clark I trusted. Well, mostly. He'd built a foundation of trust by months of action, months of helping, months of never hurting. Kal-El – I didn't know him. But I feared the Kryptonian crystals had brought him up out of Clark, or had suppressed Clark in his favor. I didn't trust Kal-El, not one little bit.

He caught sight of the control panel and stepped toward it, only to stop as he saw me holding the kryptonite. I made no effort to disguise it. He stared at me for a moment. This was it. Had he lured me in here with promises to be "good", while all along he planned on re-establishing Kryptonian dominance? Would he fry me with a glance?

Clark sighed, and turned back to wave at Perry.

I let out a huge sigh, too. He wasn't going to burn me. At least not right away. Of course, maybe he wanted Perry to come into range, so he could make it a two-for-one.

_And maybe he's just doing what he said he would do,_ a little voice in my head nagged me. Clark waving at Perry reassured me somehow. Waving seemed such a human gesture. Zod never waved. Zod never gestured welcomingly. But Clark did.

I saw Perry through the forty-foot archway, hunched up and shivering. It hadn't taken long for the most recent heat vision treatment to wear off in the bitter cold. Clark made a "come-in" gesture just before I did.

Perry stepped up to the threshold. The blue curtain of shimmering light descended again. Perry stopped at the entrance. He pressed up against the field, hands pushing against it like a kid looking through the window at a pastry shop display. He could not pass through.

"What?" I heard Clark mutter. I was angry.

I was angry. Could Clark be preventing Perry's entrance? It was Clark's Fortress, after all. Anger coursed through me. If he let Perry freeze out there, he would pay. I had the kryptonite. I shouted at Clark. "Let him in!"

The blue curtain snapped out and Perry stumbled into the Fortress. Clark stared at me. Then he went over to help Perry up.

Perry gawked unashamedly. I saw him look up, gaze at the vaulted beams, their crystalline substance refracting the Arctic sunlight into tiny rainbows at our feet. He stared wide-eyed at the stepwise platforms scattered throughout, the muted-shine surface of the pellucid structural members. He walked along one wall, disappearing into a side chamber which I hadn't known existed – it blended in well with the rest of the Fortress.

Perry walked slowly, taking in everything. He passed Clark, who made a tiny gesture, ushering him to the control console where I waited. Clark stood patiently some distance away.

I watched Perry, but my gaze kept slipping back to Clark. Our eyes met a few times and I looked away. He didn't act all Kryptonian now. I kept on forgetting that, and falling into the easy acquaintanceship (not friendship. I'd been lax. You couldn't really be friends with a Kryptonian) that we'd developed over the past few months. It was kind of scary, really, how easily Clark had slipped past my defenses. The stern Kal-El making demands in Kryptonian, and forcing me to give up the crystal, had been a needed slap in the face. Why should I feel guilty about thinking about killing him now?

Perry ambled up to me. "Quite a place here," he observed. "And nice and warm, too."

It was warm? I noticed, suddenly, that it was. Without even realizing it, I'd stopped shivering. The Fortress interior was now at a very comfortable room temperature.

Clark gave me another searching look. I looked away.

"Well, we're in. What do we do now?" Perry asked. With bravado, he added, "May I mention that we left our picnic in Australia and I'm ready for lunch?"

Clark laughed and even I smiled. That was Perry. He had an eye for the practicalities of the situation.

"I don't know," I muttered. And I didn't. We'd made it into the Fortress. Apparently the immediate danger of freezing was abated. Now what? I hadn't exactly thought this through very well at all.

I eyed Clark nervously. What was next? Comrade? Or conquerer? I had a sinking feeling it would be the latter.

'If we can get the Fortress working, there's a portal," Clark volunteered. "It went to the Kawatche caves in my world."

Perry fell for it. "How do we get the Fortress working?"

"I'm not sure. I think I have to stand by the control console."

_Of course_ he did. Followed by control of the Fortress, and next, Kryptonian rule.

"No way!" I said.

Perry glanced at me, then at Clark, his eyes going between us. "Clark," he said slowly, "I think it's time you told us about the Fortress in your world." He stood tall, not showing any fear to the Kryptonian with superhuman powers.

Clark looked back at him, and at me, brandishing the green glowing rock. He sighed. "It's a long story."

Perry gestured at the alien cathedral around us. "Doesn't look like we're going anywhere in the near future."

"Well," Clark started, "I found the three crystals – or rather, the crystals _called _me – " and he was off on a fascinating and wildly improbable tale. But then again, our whole situation was wildly improbable. So improbable, in fact, that if his story had been believable, it _wouldn't_ have been believable. Something like this called for a wildly improbable and fantastic story.

"The Artificial Intelligence – it said it was a personality download of my father – my _Kryptonian _father," Clark corrected himself. "Jor-El."

"I heard Zod ranting about that," Perry said.

"Um, yeah," Clark mumbled. "I guess they were big political enemies back on Krypton. Jor-El got Zod imprisoned in the Phantom Zone."

"I want to hear all about that later on," Perry commanded. "But continue with the Fortress story."

"Anyway, the AI in my world – it was a real piece of work," Clark said disgustedly. "It did some things to me that frankly, you would call sadistic. And then other times, it was, um, beneficial."

"Explain." Perry snapped it out.

"Well…" and again, Clark was off with more wildly improbable tales. Stories about his mother, my counterpart, who was ill and at the brink of death, and how the AI released an energy wave that cured her. How the AI gave a human girl Kryptonian powers for a short time, to lure Clark in. How Clark's human identity was suppressed, leaving him as the emotionless Kal-El, a true Kryptonian whose duty was to conquer the Earth.

I shuddered. I thought I had met that Kal-El, within the last hour. Maybe Clark had a split personality. Maybe the Clark part was really a good guy. But the Kal-El part scared me. And apparently the Fortress could turn Clark into Kal-El at its whim. I clutched the kryptonite tighter. My heart raced and I felt light-headed.

Clark glanced at me curiously as he went on with his tale. He told of how the AI had removed Clark's powers once, leaving Clark human for most of a summer. (Clark's eyes got suspiciously misty during this part.) How the AI had made Lionel Luthor (_Lionel Luthor_!) its emissary – something which totally astounded me. And he talked about how the Fortress had helped him defeat Brainiac in his own world, sparing his Earth from the horror that had overcome ours.

The Fortress was indeed a library, Clark went on, but somehow through four years, Clark had never managed to learn, or "take his training". Something always seemed to interfere, or Clark would deny himself the opportunity, fearing the loss of his human identity again.

As his recital spiraled down, Clark chuckled sadly. "So that's the story. A lot of things could happen. I _think _I can use this Fortress to help – but I'm not sure." Naked honesty was in his voice. "There's a chance you could unleash Kal-El. He's not like Clark Kent."

"What's our alternative?" Perry asked. He had moved so he stood roughly equidistant between Clark and me. I loved him for it. If Clark tried anything, he would have to go through Perry first. Of course, he could remove Perry with negligible effort, but it was the thought that counted.

"We could leave." I had to say it, even though I knew it was no solution at all.

I really wanted to be sure Clark could not get at the console. He had just all but admitted his own fortress was prodding him to conquer. His admission chilled me. Not too long ago, I had just experienced an encounter with the cold, single-purposed Kal-El. I had to safeguard the human race. I had failed in that duty, out there on the Arctic ice. Now I had another chance. Killing Clark, while a horrible thing to even contemplate, might be the only way.

"Running away never solved anything." It was Perry who said this, not Clark. I knew it too.

"We could destroy it." It sounded foolish, even as I said it.

"How?" Clark asked.

"I don't know! It's _your_ Fortress!"

"Martha, I know a little bit more about… this – " Clark gestured around at our surroundings. " – than you do. But I don't know how to do that."

"Sure." I said it flatly, disbelievingly.

"I don't!" My scorn irritated Clark. "When the Fortress in my world… sprang up, I was totally flabbergasted. I just told you I don't know much about it in my own world."

"I can't believe that."

"Believe it," Clark snapped. "I admit it. I was stupid! I had this great tool at my disposal and I wasted it! I could have done so much more…" He broke off. He resumed talking, this time much quieter. "When I saw this one arise, Martha, my first thought was, _maybe I can finally go home._"

I was taken aback. Clark's last words had the ring of truth. He didn't lie to me much, but I had to agree with A.C.'s snap assessment all those months ago – Clark was a crappy liar. I could tell when he shaded the truth or when he tried to avoid giving me some bad news. And right now, I could tell that every word in his last impassioned argument had been sincere.

"I'm not willing to go until we make this Fortress ours," Clark said. At least he was polite enough to say _we _and _ours._ "And I can't – won't do that until you two are OK with it."

I sighed. Clark confused me. He was Kryptonian. He'd forced the crystal from my hand and had flown us here with reckless disregard for our lives. But, since then, he'd been, well… good. He'd warmed us. He'd flown us to the Fortress and set us down unharmed. And now he was saying that he wouldn't do something that I didn't want. Was it true?

He hadn't hurt us from a distance, and he could have, easily. Was he trying to lull us into complacency, or did he really intend to live by his statement that he would do us no harm? For just a minute I got turned around and imagined things from his point of view – constantly extending a hand to help, and having that hand pushed away in suspicion.

My eyes narrowed. It was just like on the Arctic ice, except now we had more time to talk. Clark acted like he had decided not to kill us, at least not right away. If he truly wanted control of the Fortress without killing us, all he had to do was wait. Perry and I couldn't stay where we were forever. There was no food or water here. We had to sleep eventually. I considered our situation with the pragmatism I'd learned in a hard school. My options were either to try to kill him now, or believe him.

I shrank at the thought of killing him. Even a mild-mannered Kryptonian would fight back in self-defense. Unless I was able to catch him by surprise, Perry and I would be the losers in that battle. And I'd lost my chance at surprise out there on the ice.

I ruthlessly repressed the memory of Clark asking me, "You don't really _want _to kill me, Martha, do you?"

What if I believed him? What if I believed in him?

"Say that again," I demanded.

"What?"

"That bit about going home."

Clark looked surprised but he complied. "When I saw this Fortress arise, my first thought was, _Maybe I can finally go home_. Go home to my world, with my friends there, and my mother." He looked directly at me. I saw the wistful yearning in his eyes.

No lie in his statement. Maybe I _should_ believe him. God, I hated it when I screwed up my courage to do something righteous – like killing a Kryptonian - and then started thinking about it instead. I looked helplessly at Perry.

Perry sighed. Somehow he'd become the deciding vote here. He turned to me. "Martha," he said, "I know you're….concerned. But, we're in a situation here. Will you listen to me?"

I shrugged. I respected Perry. I was always ready to listen to him. And, frankly, just standing here holding the kryptonite wasn't getting any of us any further. I'd abide by Perry's decision. Maybe it would resolve my quandary. "Yes."

"And Clark," Perry called, "you too?"

"Yes."

I was betting the future of humanity on Perry's ability to ferret out a liar. He could do that. Thirty years of reportorial experience had given him that skill. Perry could still see the good in people. Could I? No. The Kryptonian Invasion had turned me into a hard, implacable woman. I'd never again be able to see the good in people the way Perry did. I hated Zod for that, and I hated myself, too.

"OK. Clark, look me in the eye and promise me this. If you get control of this Fortress, do you promise not to use it to destroy or conquer the Earth or do anything else bad?" Perry questioned him, his eyes meeting Clark's in deadly seriousness. "You know what I mean."

Clark didn't smile. "I promise. To keep to the spirit of what you said, not just the letter." He glanced over at me. "Ever since I got to this world, I've seen…what the Kryptonians have done. It's my duty, it's my job to fix that. I want to help." He gave a cheerless smile. "To the best of my ability, I promise. But I want Martha waiting with the kryptonite in case I become Kal-El. Martha," he said, addressing me directly and with passion, "if I do become….evil, I'm counting on you to take me down. You can do it. You'll do what's right."

What could I say? I was ready to kill him, yes, but for him to _volunteer_? Perry stopped my awkward search for words by asking, "Martha, will you be ready? Let Clark activate the Fortress? Be the guardian of Earth?"

Suddenly things didn't seem so easy. "I will," I croaked out. _Guardian of Earth_ was a fancy title for someone who stood ready with kryptonite should Clark become the conquering Kal-El.

"OK then," Perry said solemnly. "Let's get this puppy moving." He stepped back, out of the direct line between us. "Martha?"

"Yes?"

"You wrap up the kryptonite, partly. Clark?"

"Yes, Perry?"

"You'll walk to Martha, and tell her how much to cover up. I want enough kryptonite so you can stand but not much more."

Clark had a rueful smile on his face. "I'll tell her what's enough. If I fall over, it's too much."

They both looked at me. I had to make the first move.

I took a deep breath, and lifted the lead bag in my left hand, where I'd been holding it. I slowly eased it around the kryptonite, molding it to the irregular surface of the glowing rock. I looked up and nodded. Clark moved a little closer. I saw him swallow hard.

"A little more," he said quietly.

My heart pounded at the thought of disabling my only weapon. Clark could move so fast… If he decided to disarm me, I'd never know it till the deed was done. I met Perry's eyes and he gave me an encouraging smile. Jeez, this extending-trust thing was just so darn hard to do.

I covered more of the green rock, leaving only the tip unsheathed by lead. Clark walked slowly to me, his last few steps wobbly. I felt an urge to steady him. His skin looked greenish in the eerie glow of the rock I held in my right hand. He stepped up and stood at my left, a few feet away. He looked queasy.

There we stood, at the control console. Nothing happened.

"Move a little closer?" I suggested.

Clark stared in fascination at the kryptonite and swallowed again. "I need…a little more covering."

I felt a stab of uncertain fear. I eyed Clark carefully. Did I really trust his intent here? He was so close to that console, the place where he could transform himself – or be transformed – into the world's next threat. If I covered the meteor rock just a bit more, it could tip the scales in favor of conquering. I'd seen the crystal transform him into Kal-El. What if…?

His gaze met mine, steady and reassuring. Clark had an air about him, a presence that subtly said, _Everything's going to be all right. _I realized then that he'd always had that presence. He'd had it right from the first time we went on a mission together, when I was too scared to move. That presence of his seemed familiar. I thought about it for a minute, and then I had it. He was like Jonathan.

I swallowed convulsively, and decided. I lifted the rock. Clark retreated a few steps as I arranged the lead covering, exposing more of the rock for a short time. I ended with only a tiny amount of glow visible between my fingers. Clark stepped up more confidently and stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

A light from the heights speared us.

"WELCOME, MY SON," a booming voice intoned. "AND WELCOME, MARTHA KENT."

The deep voice reverberated in my bones. It echoed off the vaulted beams above. Perry looked up in surprise. My heart pounded.

"IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO BEGIN YOUR TRAINING," the voice boomed. The light around us changed color subtly.

"No!" Clark cried. "Jor-El, cancel the introduction."

"MY SON, EXPLAIN YOURSELF. YOU MUST UNDERTAKE YOUR TRAINING."

"I have already learned, Jor-El," Clark shouted back. "It's important – we must ask you some things."

"And can you shut down the 'voice-of-God' act?" I muttered.

"YOU REQUIRE AN AVATAR, MARTHA KENT?" Was there a tinge of disappointment in the voice? Or surprise?

"If that's what you call settling down for a face-to-face, sure," I said, trying to be flippant. It would be a heck of a lot easier than shouting into the air.

The booming voice did not reply. Instead, a column of light shot down from above and coalesced into the form of a middle-aged man, hair prematurely white. His form was hazy and when he moved I could see the crystalline structure of the Fortress through him.

"Jor-El?" Clark asked, stepping closer to the figure. He inadvertently came closer to me, and staggered. The kryptonite in my hand glowed a brighter green. Clark stepped back again.

Perry came and stood next to me. His steady presence comforted me. He gently laid a hand on my arm, wordlessly assuring me of his support.

Clark took the lead. "Jor-El, please explain the nature and capabilities of this structure."

The avatar turned. I had the feeling that Clark had forestalled what might have been a very long introduction. When it spoke, the avatar's voice lacked the crushing majesty of what we'd heard before. It sounded like a regular human. Clark, myself, and Perry, lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, faced the Kryptonian hologram.

"In brief, the purpose of this Fortress is to serve as a training ground, library, and school for you, Kal-El. It is meant to instruct you in your Kryptonian heritage, to protect and defend you, to support you in your mission." The avatar stopped and drew in a deep breath – certainly unnecessary. "The capabilities of this structure may be fully explained only in Kryptonian, as human languages lack certain necessary vocabulary and concepts."

"How – why – "I spluttered. There were so many questions. Perry, the experienced interviewer, was ahead of me. "What is Kal-El's mission?"

From the expression on Clark's face, he wished Perry hadn't asked that.

"His destiny is to rule the Earth," the avatar of Jor-El said calmly.

Perry and I stared at Clark. The matter-of-fact statement raised our hackles and filled me, at least, with a sense of betrayal. I fingered the lead wrapping around the kryptonite.

Clark saw our expressions. "I deny that mission," he said quickly and vehemently. "I refuse to be a conqueror or a ruler."

Did I believe him?

The avatar actually seemed nonplussed.

I decided not to think about what Clark had just said. Instead, I asked a question that had bothered me. "This Fortress was here before, and Brainiac controlled all its capabilities. Are you still under its control?"

Clark looked at me. "Good question," he muttered.

"No, Martha Kent. This instantiation of the Fortress is under the control of Kal-El and yourself."

"What?" from Perry.

"Me?" I said incredulously.

"Huh?" Clark said, apparently just as surprised as the rest of us.

A wild hope began to dawn in me.

Perry recovered first. "Explain."

The avatar ignored him. "Explain, _please_," I echoed.

Jor-El (had he really looked like that?) began. "The Fortress is composed of three elements – "

"The "elements" are those crystals that melded," Clark informed me, interrupting the avatar.

The avatar hadn't stopped talking. "Political considerations on Krypton necessitated this form of construction, rather than the creation of a single seed crystal. The three elements were dispatched to Earth. I would have preferred to have delivered them openly, but again, political considerations and confidentiality required the elements to be placed far distances from each other."

"I found my elements in China, Egypt, and Central America," Clark confirmed.

"Just how did you find them, Clark?" Perry asked. He had on his "I'm holding a poker face but I just know if I ask you, I'll catch you in a lie" expression.

"They called me."

"Called you?"

The avatar broke in. "There were two methods of ensuring Kal-El would find the elements. If Kal-El came within a certain radius of an element, the crystal would activate and emit a tone audible only to Kryptonians. This is a variant of our House tone and would impel him to find the element. The tone would not stop until Kal-El held the element within his hand. Once one element was found, the other elements would be sensitized and would cfemit their tone, again if Kal-El came within proximity, but this time at a much greater radius."

Clark nodded.

"What was the second method?" Perry asked. Again, Jor-El ignored the question until I repeated it.

"If Kal-El had not found the elements on his own by the time he reached the age of maturity, the elements would make themselves known to him."

"So, is that why…" I turned to Clark.

He looked abashed. "When we were in Australia, all I could hear was that sound. It was….um, I _needed_ to stop it."

"Hence the kidnapping," I said sourly.

"Um, well, um…..I'm sorry about that." Clark actually shuffled. He directed his next question to Jor-El. "Why is this Fortress controlled by Martha too?"

"Just what I was wondering," I muttered.

"The elements may only merge when they are placed in close proximity by a member of the House of El. Although this Fortress was made for you, my son, in case of unforeseen circumstances, it will respond to the touch of any member of our House." The avatar inhaled again. It was eerie, its representation of a human. "The member may choose to have another person touch the elements at the time of their merging into the seed crystal. In that case, the Fortress will be controlled jointly by the House of El member and whomever they allowed to touch the seed crystal."

My jaw dropped. I remembered that one moment out on the ice when Kal-El and I had both had a hand on all three elements.

Clark muttered, "That must be how Brainiac controlled the Fortress – he must have set it up when Kara threw the crystal."

The avatar went on. "Also, if human or Kryptonian blood touched any one crystal before the melding, the blood's donor would become a default controller of the Fortress. Also, the genetic pattern in the blood serves as a template of sorts, and influences the expressions, worldview, and actions of the controlling artificial intelligence, to some extent."

A curious expression crossed Clark's face. "So Martha qualifies in two ways."

"Yes."

"What if blood stained one of the elements but the blood donor was not present at the melding?"

"Again, my son, the concepts cannot be expressed completely in languages other than Kryptonian. Let it suffice to say that the intelligence, in the absence of one of its prime influences, would seek out information about its missing donor and would attempt to take on some of the personality traits of the blood donor. The programming of the House of El would remain paramount, however."

Understanding bloomed across Clark's face.

"What?" Perry asked.

"That explains a lot about the Fortress in my world."

"Yes?" Perry asked encouragingly.

"Well, I didn't find all the stones in my world. Um, Lana Lang got one, and she gave it to me. But there was blood on the stone that she gave me."

"Whose blood?" Perry snapped.

"Genevieve Teague."

"Teague? The notorious collaborator?"

"Actually, I didn't know the Teagues were collaborators till I came to this world." At our looks of incomprehension, Clark went into another explanation. "It was a few days after we'd made our deal – " here he nodded to me. "I'd just gotten out of Metropolis base for the first time and I was just wandering around on my own. There was a funeral. I asked who it was for and they told me it was for Genevieve and Edward Teague."

"Things changed a lot for them after Zod and his gang were overthrown," Perry said neutrally. "Lex's group came down like….well, I was going to say _like an avenging god_, but that's, um….Let's just say that they were out for revenge."

"Let me guess. Andrea Rojas was the leader of that faction," Clark said bitterly.

"Oh, you know her too?" Perry asked sarcastically. "Basically, she wanted to kill everyone at the _Daily Planet _because they'd been in the same building where Zod spent some time."

"Were they collaborators?" Clark asked.

"Clark, most of us were just people trying to stay alive. You could call me one of the worst collaborators for the stuff I did. But I was just trying to keep my people safe. And the _Planet _building had heat and light…" Perry's eyes hardened in memory. "We holed up when Rojas and her crew came by."

"What happened?"

Perry sighed. "I was – we were able to get amnesty for almost everyone. Rojas demanded blood, and after three years of Zod's rule, you could see why. The Teagues were the most visible of the collaborators, and the most blatant. They backed the wrong horse in the end." He took a deep breath. "They were shot by a firing squad a few days after Zod's overthrow."

Clark inhaled.

"We had a nice funeral. After that, I think Lex reined in Andrea Rojas a bit, and there was an official amnesty. Even Rojas realized, when she calmed down, that we don't have enough people to go around executing them just for trying to survive."

"So that explains some of the wariness around me, too," Clark said, with the air of someone understanding something that has eluded him for months.

"Sure. They're afraid of you and your powers and what you might do to them – don't be mistaken on that, Clark – but they're also afraid of putting a foot wrong, politically. Lex and his crew have already shown they won't cavil at the death penalty."

"You know, I'm wondering now…." Clark mused. "When the Teagues were shot, was it before or after Lex decided to keep me around?"

"After, I believe," Perry said, "from what I've heard of that time." He smiled sardonically. "I guess Lex was taking a page from Voltaire."

Looks of incomprehension came from myself and Clark.

"Voltaire said that the English shoot an admiral every now and then, _pour encourager les autres._"

"So shooting a pair of notorious alien collaborators would "encourage the others"?" Clark demanded.

"There's no denying it would make them think twice." There was a long moment of silence, then Perry said, "But you said that it was Genevieve Teague's blood on the stones in your world? How did you know?"

"Oh." Clark shifted his weight. "I got off on a tangent. Anyway, when I was at the funeral for this world's Genevieve Teague, I smelled her blood. And it was the same smell as the blood on the stone that was given to me in my world."

"You got this stone from Lana Lang?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you wonder what she was doing with a sharp stone with human blood on it?"

"Well, at the time, another meteor shower was about to happen, and the stones melded and I got a Fortress and I had to save Chloe and my parents' house was damaged by a meteor and my mother was almost killed and – " Clark choked off what promised to be a long litany. "I was doing other things at the time, and after that, it just slipped my mind."

Perry had been listening with only half an ear. "So, based on what this AI is telling us, Genevieve Teague would have been a controller of the Fortress in your world."

"Um, I guess so."

"What happened to Teague in your world?"

"I don't know. She was presumed dead in the meteor shower. They never found her body."

"You were lucky," Perry said flatly. "If she'd had access to your Fortress…. if she'd _controlled_ it…..Clark, not to speak ill of the dead, but if the AI takes on traits of the blood donor, that might explain why the Fortress in your world is so….so…"

"So crazy? So whacked out?" Clark said, enlightened.

"Genevieve Teague was a piece of work." Perry said it flatly.

I had been silent throughout, still trying to get my mind around the fact that I was an Authorized User of the Fortress. I had the power. I could stop any Kal-El attempt at conquering or domination. I almost collapsed with relief.

"So that's why he told me that human blood could not be allowed to stain the stones," Clark said wonderingly. "How come there's the whole blood thing?"

"It is an ancient Kryptonian safety protocol, built into all Kryptonian technology," the avatar intoned.

"But Martha's blood is on these stones," Perry pointed out. "That's our situation here and now."

I hardly heard him. "So I'm in control of you?" I demanded of the avatar.

"Yes, Martha Kent."

Flabbergasted did not begin to describe it. Clark and Perry both goggled at me. Then, as my brain came back on-line, it made sense. I had muttered that I wanted it warmer in here – and it was. The avatar would answer my questions while it ignored Perry's. And – I narrowed my eyes – it had let Perry in, at my command – even though I hadn't realized it was a command at the time.

I smiled. "Then, Jor-El, two things."

"Yes, Martha Kent?"

"First, answer Perry's questions. Second, don't let Clark – Kal-El – do anything with the Fortress unless I give my permission."

"Hey!" Clark exclaimed.

"Accepted," the avatar intoned.

"Just making sure." I smiled innocently at Clark.

"Well, then, don't let Martha do anything with the Fortress until _I _give permission!" Clark retorted.

"Accepted," the avatar intoned.

Clark and I stared at each other. There was no give in my gaze. This whole thing had been a fluke – incredible circumstances, a one-in-a-billion event. But now I could, and would, veto Clark's actions.

What threw me was Clark's eyes. Aside from the first moment, there hadn't been the anger that I expected. Was it….was there actually _relief_ in those green depths? I stared some more. What I could say for sure was that his amusement was rising.

"Well, Martha Kent," Clark said, imitating the avatar's precise diction, "you've just discovered that you have control over an alien Fortress, containing advanced galactic technology, and that you, quite possibly, could rule the world." He gestured around at the vast structure. "What are you going to do next?" He wasn't even trying to hide his smile now.

I fought off the inane urge to snap back, "I'm going to Disney World!" Then it really hit me. What _was _I going to do? It was like winning the lottery – and I'd read somewhere that eighty percent of lottery winners were bankrupt within five years. I looked up at Clark again and saw sympathy.

"Stan Lee said it best," Clark said softly. "When he wrote Spider-Man? _With great power comes great responsibility._" He gave me a rueful smile.

I suddenly realized that Clark had felt the truth of those words for years.


	26. Chapter 26

_From the previous chapter: _

"Well, Martha Kent," Clark said, imitating the avatar's precise diction, "you've just discovered that you have control over an alien Fortress containing advanced galactic technology, and that you, quite possibly, could rule the world." He gestured around at the vast structure. "What are you going to do next?" He wasn't even trying to hide his smile now.

I fought off the inane urge to snap back, "I'm going to Disney World!" Then it really hit me. What _was _I going to do? It was like winning the lottery – and I'd read somewhere that eighty percent of lottery winners were bankrupt within five years. I looked up at Clark again and saw sympathy.

"Stan Lee said it best," Clark said softly. "When he wrote Spider-Man? _With great power comes great responsibility._" He gave me a rueful smile.

I suddenly realized that Clark had felt the truth of those words for years.

* * *

Perry, bless him, stepped in. "I think we all need a little break here." His voice was firm. He broke the locked gaze between Clark and me.

"That's right." Clark stepped back, his face losing the pain lines it held when he stood near kryptonite. He nodded as Perry came up and took my elbow, tucking me close to his body.

"A break is good," I said hollowly, my mind whirling. Perry and I stepped back from the control console as well. The avatar stood patiently, saying nothing.

"I have a suggestion," Clark said diffidently. "You two stay here. I'll fly back to Australia and get our food. We'll have our picnic here."

When he said "food" my stomach rumbled audibly. I _was _hungry. Maybe that accounted for some of my lightheadedness. Perry lifted his eyebrows at the rumbling but politely ignored it.

"Good plan," Perry said.

"Just two things," Clark replied. I stood straighter and grasped the kryptonite tighter at his tone. Was there a spasm of pain in his eyes at my motion? Did he think that I expected him to hurt me? He made no other sign that he'd noticed my instinctive grasp of the thing that was lethal to him.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Let's ask Jor-El for a table and chairs. Running water. And a bathroom."

I relaxed my grip on the kryptonite and sighed in relief, chiding myself for the ultra-paranoid fears. I had plenty of normal fears. I didn't need to create more. I didn't _think_ I had to be suspicious of every little thing Clark said or did. As I reminded myself for the tenth time, he'd had plenty of opportunities to kill us so far, and hadn't taken a single one. Perry and I were here and unharmed.

Needing a bathroom was just so human and mundane. It wasn't alien at all. In fact, now that Clark had mentioned it, I really had to go. "Great idea," I said fervently. "Jor-El, we're both asking for that. Can you get us those things here?"

The avatar nodded. Off to the side, an area of the crystal bubbled. Sparkling dust hung in the air as deep rumbling – a tiny imitation of that heard when the Fortress was formed – shook the floor.

"Completed," the avatar said shortly.

"Man, this is so Arabian Nights," Perry muttered.

"Yeah, it is," Clark replied. He'd heard the sotto voce comment. "Aladdin's lamp and all that." He frowned. "That's why this is the second thing. Jor-El?"

"Yes?"

"Don't talk to Martha if I'm not here, unless I give permission. Don't talk to me if Martha's not here, unless she gives permission."

This time it was me who blurted out, "Hey!"

Perry had a considering look on his face. "Not a bad idea."

Clark turned to me and said earnestly, "From here on out, we do everything with the Fortress together. You'll know what I'm up to. I'll know what you're up to."

"Well… I guess so."

Clark smiled. "You can keep me on the straight and narrow." Without giving me a chance to reply, he disappeared.

The avatar winked out of existence. Apparently my "I guess so" was considered enough agreement.

I stood there for a minute. "I hate it when Clark does that."

"What?" Perry asked.

"Just super-speeds off and disappears. It's so not fair."

"You just wanted to get the last word."

I hugged him, unutterably relieved at what had happened. I didn't have to kill Clark. I wouldn't have to kill him. I could prevent another Kryptonian domination. "You know me well."

"Well, you'd better get used to it," Perry said. "Now that you own half of this Fortress, you and Clark are going to be spending a lot of time together."

I looked at him in dismay.

* * *

Clark came back in about twenty minutes. I knew it hadn't taken him that long to fly to Australia and back. Heck, he'd brought us to the Arctic in less than five minutes. He must have decided to give me some time to cool down. I used the bathroom, glad we'd gotten that through before Jor-El was put on lockdown. I wished we'd thought to ask for soap, though.

I took off Clark's boots and socks and slipped back into my own sandals. I could see the whirling Arctic winds through the vaulted entrance, but here, inside the Fortress, warmth reigned. Perry slipped off his jacket and loosened his tie.

Perry and I sat at the newly created table, exchanging a few desultory words but we soon tailed off into silence. There was something about this place that discouraged conversation. Maybe it was the echoes – or maybe it was the fact that we were humans in a place not meant for our species.

Thoughts whirled through my head. What if Clark didn't come back? We were stranded. The Fortress wouldn't respond without him. What if he just left us here? Why had I so blithely let him fly away? What had I been thinking? As the minutes ticked on, I grew more and more worried.

Clark cut off that line of thinking before I worked myself into a panic, by landing at the door and walking in. He gave us time to react to his presence. He carried our picnic hamper. He paused a moment before approaching Perry and myself, and I realized he was testing for kryptonite.

"We put it away," I told him. There was a flash of relief in his eyes. Why did I feel guilty about that? We were the ones under threat, not him.

Clark nodded and strode confidently to the table, setting our picnic basket there. We automatically fell into the roles we'd taken on. I set out the plates and silverware, and got out the food; Perry fumbled with the corkscrew and opened the wine; and Clark examined the containers, found the appropriate ones, and gave the contents a blast of heat vision. He also chilled the drinks.

I paused for a short grace; then we all dug in. By common agreement we said nothing about our current situation; instead, Perry asked Clark about his week.

"I went to Australia to scout out things for our picnic, earlier this week," Clark began. "I was doing a fly-by over Melbourne and came across a group of survivors."

"Is that unusual?" I asked.

"Actually, it is." Clark suddenly looked as if he regretted this line of conversation. "I've been doing fly-overs above, well, just about all the big cities, and there are almost no survivors outside North America."

"I wonder why."

"I think I know why," Perry announced. "Zod and that robot thing of his – "

"Brainiac."

"Brainiac, yes. They released some bio-warfare agents, killed billions of people in just a few weeks."

Clark looked sick.

"I was at the _Daily Planet _building – Zod had made it his HQ, it seemed to be some sort of joke with him – and I was there when he dispersed some sort of counteragent. That was to keep all the collaborators and toadies alive." Perry looked grim. "It must have dispersed, at least in the local area. Maybe it spread across the continent. From what you're saying, I don't think much of it got overseas."

"Most of the other people that survived were metahumans," I said quietly. I should know. I'd fought in the Resistance. I'd wished I'd had some of their powers of healing and toughness and survivability. But I was just a regular human.

"You were _there_?" Clark asked Perry, ignoring my comment. He knew as well as I what the _Planet _archives showed for that time: issues praising Zod, no dissent allowed. I'd seen articles with Perry White's byline, newspaper stories that were fawning and sycophantic.

"I did what I had to do to survive," Perry said grimly. He looked straight at Clark. "And I don't want to have to do it again."

Clark stared straight back at him. "You won't have to."

"I'm glad to hear that," Perry said, not looking away. Clark's eyes dropped first.

Clark busied himself refilling our glasses. We finished our picnic in awkward silence. As it ended, Clark leaned forward. Perry and I, sitting side to side across the table from him, leaned forward too. It was time to talk.

Perry started. Somehow he'd developed the skill of keeping a meeting on time and on agenda. "Clark, I know that you and Martha must have been thinking a lot about this."

"Understatement," I muttered. Clark nodded his head.

"So, my question, as a regular Earth guy – " Perry smiled at me - "is to ask both of you, what do you want? You've got this….thing here, with almost unlimited power. Heck, it grants wishes. What do you want to do with it?" Surprisingly, he turned to me first.

"I'm not really sure," I said hesitantly. "I guess the first thing I want is for the past three years to have never happened."

"I don't think that's an option," Clark said. Something in his voice raised my suspicions. He was either lying or not telling all of the truth. Well, I was a lawyer. I'd cross-examine him. We'd find out what he was hiding.

"You said that the Fortress in your world threw you into this one, and that Brainiac had gone back in time to make sure you never left Krypton."

"That's right. I defeated him on my world."

"Wait a minute. I'm confused," Perry said. He hadn't been there for all the talks, all the explanations Clark had made in the first two weeks he'd been in our world.

Clark explained. "In my world, there is a Fortress. In my world, or I guess I should say, in my universe, I did leave Krypton. I was sent from Krypton as a baby and landed here on Earth. Martha and Jonathan Kent were my adoptive parents."

"You mentioned that," Perry said musingly. He shot me an odd look. Perhaps he'd ignored that little fact about Clark. Or perhaps he'd just chosen not to bother me about it. It wasn't well known. I'd made sure of that. Clark had told the members of the Metropolis council, but the rest of the people at Metropolis base didn't know that I was Clark's alternate-world adoptive mother.

Clark went on. "I defeated Brainiac in my world a couple of times, but he kept on coming back. He managed to go back in time and through space to Krypton before it was destroyed. It was his intent to prevent my spaceship from departing Krypton before the planet exploded."

"Fascinating," Perry muttered. "Go on."

"I was kind of an ass in those days – " Clark sounded rueful. "I thought it might be better if I never had come to Earth."

"Why would you think that?" Perry was honestly curious.

"Um….a whole lot of reasons," Clark evaded. "I guess the biggest one was that I was, um, incognito as an alien, and I was deathly afraid of the secret getting out. But then situations with the meteor-infected would keep on coming up and I'd need to use my abilities, uh, to keep people from getting killed or whatever. Then I would worry about people seeing me doing that, and the secret getting out, and me being locked in a government lab somewhere. And then I'd obsess about how I wasn't human. I guess I spent too much time thinking about myself and not enough time doing things for other people."

Perry only nodded.

"So, anyway, I was moping around – God knows I've discovered what an idiot I was – and I decided it might be better if I _had _never made it to Earth. The Jor-El in my Fortress decided to give me a little reality therapy – " Clark's voice was sarcastic – "and sent me to an Earth where I never did make it off Krypton. Unfortunately," here his voice turned hard, "I didn't realize that, although I'd never come, Brainiac did come, the Brainiac from my world, and he brought Zod and the other Kryptonians. And I wasn't here to protect the Earth. I should have been here, but I wasn't."

"Protect the Earth?"

"Perry, this is my world now. I may be Kryptonian by blood but I belong here."

"So, when you got here…"

"When I got here, I literally ran into Lois Lane – we're good friends in my world, but here she didn't know me from Adam and she pegged me as a Kryptonian right away. She had kryptonite on her, and she promptly took me prisoner. I made a deal with the Resistance, helped them overthrow Zod, and well, you know the rest."

"Getting back to the time travel…."

"I don't think you can have the last three years never have happened. Brainiac went back in time, but that was my universe, and he must have created this universe, or at least this Earth, by doing so. Unless it was already here and he just moved in. I just came over from one universe to another, sort of a lateral move. I don't understand multiple world quantum theory, if that's even what it is. All I know is that alternate universes exist, and that I'm in one of them."

"Did Brainiac use your Fortress to go back in time?"

"No, he didn't. My Fortress did pick up somehow on what he did. I think it sent me here to stop him and to learn a lesson – but that implies I was supposed to go back to my world. Well, that hasn't happened. So far. I mean, I've done both of those things and I'm still stuck here."

"Do you _know _that the Fortress can't send you back in time?"

"I don't _know _it. You'd – we'd have to ask Jor-El."

"Let's wait a minute before we do that. I've got some more questions."

"OK, Perry."

"I'm assuming Brainiac is gone, in this universe."

"That's right. When we assaulted the Fortress – I mean, the previous instantiation of the Fortress – "

"Wait a minute. Explain that."

"Martha knows," Clark gestured.

I almost fell over. What did he know?

"She was involved in all the planning. Basically, well, are you ready for another long story?"

Perry gestured at the crystalline girders. "Not going anywhere."

"OK. Well, my cousin Kara also escaped from Krypton before it exploded – "

"What are the odds of that?" I asked sarcastically.

Clark looked at me. "Pretty good, actually, since it was my father – I mean Jor-El – who'd come to the conclusion that Krypton was doomed. From what I've heard, the rest of the Kryptonian Ruling Council didn't believe him, and they prevented any general evacuation. My father and his brother were able only to get two small ships off – just me and my cousin Kara."

"OK. Go on."

"Kara's ship landed at the bottom of a river, and the failsafe mechanisms prevented it from opening. She remained in stasis for eighteen years while I grew up in Smallville."

"And she was what? A child?"

"No, she was about seventeen when I was three. Then when she finally got out of her ship – "

"How'd that happen?"

"A dam burst. The river drained." Clark was terse. "She got out, and went looking for me, baby Kal-El, because she didn't know that eighteen years had gone by while she was asleep. But of course I'd grown up by then. I'm four years older than her now, in terms of bio time, you know, since she was in stasis and I wasn't."

"Jeez, this conversation is getting weirder and weirder." I rubbed my temples.

"Talk to me about living it sometime," Clark sighed.

"Um, getting back to the subject?" Perry asked. He had a slight smile on his face. The "weirder life" comment must be cracking him up inside.

"OK. So Brainiac managed to co-opt my world's Kara. He took her with him – he went to Krypton and stopped my ship from launching. She must not have been able to prevent that. Then he must have come here, to this Earth, found the elements, had Kara meld them into the seed crystal. He must have become a co-owner, or co-controller, whatever, of that instantiation of this Fortress." Clark became grim. "I think he killed the Kara from my world after he got control of the Fortress."

There was a moment of silence.

"Then what happened?" Perry asked.

"Well, when I ended up on this Earth, I knew we needed help to bring down Zod. There was a Kara from this universe too. Her ship made it off Krypton where mine didn't. The same thing happened – her ship was underwater, and she was in stasis. We brought her out, revived her. She helped us bring down Zod and Brainiac, but she died in the attack on the Fortress." Clark looked down, his eyes glistening. "Both versions of my cousin, dead."

Perry and I were silent.

Clark gathered himself. "I was wounded in the attack, and Martha didn't come – "

"Metahumans and Kryptonians only," I said. "I did do some pre-battle planning."

"So I'm not exactly sure what happened at the end. I know Zod and Aethyr and Brainiac are dead. I thought the Fortress would still be up here in the Arctic, but that it would be inactive, dead too. When I learned how to fly, I deliberately avoided where the Fortress was. I really didn't want to, um, get near it." Clark grimaced. "I flew over the entire Arctic when I got our lunch. This is the only Fortress now. When did the previous instantiation go away? Right after the big fight? Or later on? Perry, I have no clue why it dissolved into its constituent elements again, and why Martha found an element in Australia." He sounded sincere.

"Didn't you have an element already?" I asked suspiciously.

"Um, yeah. I was flying over Brazil one day, and it called to me."

"Why didn't the one in Australia call to you?"

"I _thought _I heard something, but Martha found it first." He turned to me. "How did you find it?"

"I tripped over it. Literally." I frowned. "And what are the odds of _that_? It almost seems Tolkienesque, with the One Ring trying to get back to Sauron. It's like the elements were trying to get back to you, Clark."

"I don't know that I care for the Sauron comparison." We stared at him. Clark shrugged. "OK, but the One Ring was cursed. The Fortress isn't." We stared some more. "Hopefully."

"You've read _Lord of the Rings_?" Perry asked, distracted for a moment. Then he started chuckling. "An _alien_ read _Lord of the Rings_?"

"I guess Tolkien's appeal is trans-galactic." Clark started to laugh too. "I read it five or six times. It's a great book. I liked the movies, too. They did a good job on those."

"Yeah, I thought they captured the essence of the books pretty well. It's tough to boil down a thousand pages to nine hours, but they did OK with it," Perry agreed.

Clark glanced over at me. "Martha, I didn't know you liked fantasy."

My lips thinned. "I didn't start reading _that _genre till after the Invasion."

"Oh." The laughter died.

Perry broke the awkward moment. "So what happened – you know, the big attack where Zod and Aethyr and Brainiac were killed?"

"I only saw part of it. I guess we could ask Lex or someone who survived the attack – what happened? What's the whole story? I never did ask. Do you know, Martha?" Clark turned to me.

"I don't," I said musingly. "I do know a whole lot of wounded came back to the base."

"Zod's human collaborators were mostly guarding the portal at the Kawatche caves," Clark said. "Our people, I mean the Resistance, fought the collaborators. We had planned to get as many of us as possible through the portal in the caves, up to the Fortress to fight the Kryptonians. But the fight with the collaborators was tough, and only a few of us made it to the Fortress. I mean the previous instantiation of the Fortress, not this one." His eyes darkened in painful reminiscence. "Just Kara, me, Lex, Lois, and Chloe. Lois disabled Aethyr with kryptonite and then Chloe drained her. You know that healing power she has?"

I did. Perry didn't, based on his eyebrow lift.

"Think of it in reverse." Clark winced. "Draining out the life force. It was like instant mummy."

"The others?" Perry asked softly.

"Lex stabbed Zod in the heart with a kryptonite dagger," Clark said. "Kara fought Brainiac, took him down with a special crystal her father had given her before she left Krypton. We thought he was dead, but he's harder to kill than that. He stabbed me and hurt Kara, but the two of us were able to….we used our heat vision until he vaporized or exploded or something." His voice was flat. "Kara died, and I was unconscious. I woke up back at Metropolis base." He turned back to Perry. "So you see," Clark said softly, "I don't really know what happened at the end there."

"Martha?" Perry asked.

"Why do you want to know?" I snapped. Talk of those days tended to upset my precariously maintained equilibrium.

He said nothing, only took a long look at our surroundings.

"OK," I said reluctantly. "When they brought Clark back, there was a lot of talking about…"

"Whether you should kill me right away or not." Clark shrugged. "Hey, it's obvious."

"Let's just say there was some heated discussion," I mumbled. It took a bolder face than I had right now to talk so coolly about encompassing Clark's death. "Neither Chloe nor Lex would let us kill you. They insisted that we allow you to speak for yourself. You know the rest."

"The rest?" Perry asked, fascinated.

"I'd use my powers to help and they wouldn't kill me," Clark said bluntly. "That's the basic deal." He smiled sardonically. "Plus, we straightened out my legal status. In the eyes of the law, I'm treated as a human. At least in theory." He smiled again. "Bonus: I got citizenship."

Perry laughed out loud. "You mean you weren't – oh."

"Not born within the country's boundaries."

Perry stared at Clark for a long minute, and said positively, "You'd use your powers to help anyway. No matter what you got out of it."

Clark said nothing. I saw the truth of Perry's statement in Clark's eyes. Some of my confusion abated. The Fortress coming into being had made me distrust Clark, and fear him all over again. But at his non-response to Perry's statement, I knew it was the truth. Clark would try to help. It wasn't his nature to hurt.

I was still a little uneasy, but nowhere near as frightened as I was when I first saw the Fortress arising. I'd realized the essential truth of what Clark said out there on the ice. The Fortress was a tool. It could be used for good or harm, depending on the wielder's intention. And I was one of the wielders, and had veto power over the other.

"So, can I print this story?" Perry asked. "You've been making saves all over the country for the last six months. I think people would like to know."

Clark laughed. "Sure. Maybe it'll help a bit." He chuckled again. "To think that in my world, I spent so much time protecting my secret….and here it is on the front page of the _Daily Planet_."

Perry stared at him for another long moment. "So, Clark, what do you want? You're the owner of this Fortress, you could do anything, really. What do you want?"

Clark ran his fingers through his hair. I forgot about his ludicrous costume - the spandex suit with the El emblem on the chest, forgot about his bare feet (he hadn't retrieved his socks and farm boots from where I'd left them.) At this moment, he seemed a regular human, sad and tired.

"I'd like to go home," he said. "When I saw this Fortress, I was thinking, _maybe I can go home, _back to my world. Back where nobody, except my mother and Chloe, knows that I'm a Kryptonian. Back where – " he stopped.

"What?" I asked sharply.

"Back where everyone doesn't hate me," Clark said softly. He sat up straighter and spoke a little louder. "That sounds like….that's whining. But you have to admit, the Kryptonians have done some serious damage here. And I'm tarred by the same brush."

Perry and I exchanged a glance. It was true. Why else was I still carrying kryptonite?

"But I wouldn't want to leave without doing something more, um something to fix what's been broken here. Martha, I know you must feel the same way." He turned back to me, extended his hand across the table. "We can't restore the lives that were lost, or repair everything that was destroyed or damaged….but we must be able to do something."

Slowly, I nodded. "I haven't thought about it a lot yet, but I agree with you, Clark. I want to fix things, or improve them, somehow."

"OK."

"OK."

I reached across the table and shook his hand. It was more than comrades making a deal; it somehow had turned into a quest. I remembered our first mission, and how I'd been afraid even to put my hand over his so he could demonstrate his aura. Things were different now.

"We have to talk to Jor-El," Clark said. He sounded like he dreaded it.

"I know." Too bad the thought had me shaking in my boots. Before, when everything was so raw, anger and excitement had carried me through. Now, after rest and food, I could view things with more balance. And it scared me.

Here I was, in control (or at least fifty percent in control) of a….structure that pretty much had the power to do anything. The choices I'd have to make, even _thinking _of the possibilities….I suddenly wondered if this was how Clark felt every day. He had almost unlimited physical power. And every day, at least every day that I'd known him so far, he'd chosen to use it a certain way. He helped people. He rescued them. He pulled capsized boats out of rivers and saved dams from bursting. He cleared roads. He got oil rigs back on-line. He took messages, and people, back and forth. Heck, he even delivered the _Daily Planet _to people all over the country.

And we took him for granted and reviled him when we thought he wasn't listening. We used him, we didn't trust him, and we let him know it.

I know he got discouraged at times. Did he ever get angry? Did he want to respond to the insults? I knew for a fact that several people had attacked him with kryptonite and tried to kill him. In some cases, only luck, and fortitude, and courage I didn't know if I would have had, had saved him.

For example, the time he had taken me to Colorado and been ambushed. The bad guys had hurt him. And what had he done? He had removed himself from any contact with them, foregone any possibility of revenge. Had Clark gone back and retaliated? No. I'd followed the rumors and news very closely for months afterward, expecting him to kill our attackers in some ingenious Kryptonian way. But, to my surprise, he never had. It was Lex who'd arranged the mysterious deaths of our captors. Lex never admitted it, but I recognized his style.

It hit me. Clark had to keep control of himself twenty-four / seven. If he slipped, if he made a move in anger, he could hurt or even kill someone. He wasn't allowed to be tired or angry or have bad days. Unlike me. I could snap and have a temper and yell and even strike out at people if I wanted to.

Except now I couldn't. What power did I wield, what spirit of the Fortress might flow through me? What if I harmed others? It was like boxing. Before, I'd been a bantamweight or a flyweight or something like that. Something light. And suddenly, I'd moved up with Clark to the heavyweight division. My blows could kill. I shuddered. I wasn't sure if I was ready for this responsibility.


	27. Chapter 27

I sighed. Clark looked over at me. Carefully, he offered, "I guess our next step is to call Jor-El and ask him about Fortress capabilities, you know."

"I guess," I said faintly.

Clark turned to Perry. "Perry, would you be our backup here?"

Perry, startled, replied, "What?"

"I'm not sure…." Clark seemed very tense. "I want you to ask the questions that we forget." He elaborated at Perry's quizzical glance. "It's easy to get caught up in….um. Martha and I will be talking to Jor-El. You're out of it. You're an Earth….you're human." He smiled. "Keep that cynical newsman's eye on us, OK?"

"OK," Perry agreed, smiling back. "I can do cynical. God knows I've interviewed enough politicians in my time."

Clark chuckled mirthlessly. "That's punishment on its own," he muttered. Then, louder, to Perry: "And you hold the kryptonite."

"Do you expect a problem?" Perry asked carefully.

"I don't know." Clark seemed reluctant to admit it. "I don't. But….things could happen. Look what happened with the elements. I… wasn't myself there. And if things happen…. protect Martha. Protect yourself."

Perry studied Clark for a long time. "I think you underestimate yourself, Clark."

Clark smiled weakly but his face stayed serious. "I mean it, Perry. Be ready for anything to happen."

"OK." Gravely, Perry took the wrapped green rock.

"Please don't open it till Martha and I go over to the console."

"OK, that's the plan, then."

Clark turned to me. "Are you ready?"

"Why are you so freaked?" I asked Clark.

His eyes shifted.

"What?"

"The Fortress….at least the one in my world….it's done some pretty crazy things to me. I don't know what this one will do."

Oh, great. _Crazy things. _That really sounded reassuring. A crazy Kryptonian. My stomach plummeted like a dropping elevator. Clark caught my anxious gaze sweeping over our confinement. He didn't need to read minds to see that I was checking for escape routes and not finding any. He plastered on a confident smile.

"Of course, now I know that that Fortress had some of the personality of Genevieve Teague. This Fortress has _your_ personality, Martha."

"Great. An Artificial Intelligence modeled after a prickly lawyer."

Clark laughed. "We'll be fine." He sounded great – great, that is, if you hadn't heard his previous comments.

On the other hand, as I reminded myself for the fiftieth time, what choice did I have? Necessity was a mother.

"OK." Clark actually took my hand as we walked together the short distance to the control console. I didn't pull it away. There was something reassuring about his large hand holding my smaller one, his fingers surprisingly warm. And he still had that Jonathan-like air of stability and trust.

We stood in front of the crystalline tubes - another example of alien design. Humans would make their consoles with buttons to press or levers to pivot or dials to turn – not this weird pipe-organ set of hollow columns with levitating crystals. I looked back at Perry. He nodded and gestured reassuringly. I saw the green glow of kryptonite in his hand. He was ready.

"Let me try something." Clark raised his voice slightly. "Jor-El!" The rest of what he said was a long liquid stream of unintelligible syllables.

"What was that?" I asked.

"_That _was Kryptonian. I was asking Jor-El to come out."

Resentment coursed through me. That was so unfair, again. He could say anything and I wouldn't be able to understand.

Nothing happened.

"I think you have to ask too," Clark said patiently.

Oh. That's right. My spirits lifted as I realized I did have veto ability. OK. "Jor-El, come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The avatar appeared. My nascent amusement disappeared. This was _real. _It said nothing.

"Jor-El, please tell us about the capabilities of the Fortress," Clark began.

The avatar's eyes flicked to mine. Apparently my blithe invitation was enough for it to assume Clark and I were in agreement here. Just to make sure, I nodded.

"The Fortress capabilities are numerous, too many to list here in a reasonable time."

I scowled in frustration. The avatar went on.

"The users of this facility must undergo a – " unintelligible Kryptonian phrase – "for proper instruction."

"What was that?" I asked Clark.

"Please define - " and Clark repeated the Kryptonian phrase.

The avatar broke into a spate of Kryptonian. Clark paled.

"What?" I asked.

"The closest analogy would be a download. You'd stand here, and the A.I. would beam the knowledge directly into your brain."

My eyebrows raised. "Was that how they did education on your planet?"

"I have no idea," Clark said shortly.

"Well, let's go ahead. Will I speak Kryptonian?" What a great idea. Instant learning. Finally, some alien technology that made sense. If I understood the Fortress and how to control it, I wouldn't be so scared anymore. Half the fear was from not understanding. "Let's get to it."

"No!" Clark burst out.

"No?" I repeated dangerously. Was he trying to keep me from learning? Keep himself, as the only Kryptonian speaker, the master of the Fortress? My suspicions, dormant, woke again.

"Martha," Clark said earnestly, "I saw this once before. In my world. A man, a scientist, got the download. It put him into a coma. He never woke up."

I stared at him.

"The download is for Kryptonians! Humans are different!" Clark loomed over me, acting like he wanted to shake my shoulders. "It's too dangerous!"

Perry came up and stood by me. "What?" Clark wasn't in pain, so Perry must have left the kryptonite some distance away.

"It's….the download….human brains aren't made to accept it." Clark said it flatly, his eyes shifting between Perry and myself. "Please. Don't."

I saw indecision on Perry's face. It cleared as he saw a possible solution.  
"Can we ask Jor-El?"

Relief bloomed on Clark's face too. I felt better about him. He obviously believed what he was saying. "Yes." He turned to the avatar. "Can you adjust the download so it will do no harm to Martha?"

"Unknown," the avatar said crisply. "I must scan Martha Kent first and obtain more data."

Perry asked suspiciously, "What's involved in this _scan_?"

Clark shut his mouth. I think he'd been about to ask the same question.

"No harm will come to Martha Kent," the avatar intoned. "The scan is non-invasive and is to gather data only."

We stared at each other. The worried expression smoothed off Perry's face, while Clark still seemed disquieted.

"Jor-El," Clark began, "do you give me your word that Martha will not be harmed or changed in any way by this scan?"

"Yes, Kal-El. Again, this scan is read-only." Was the avatar getting a little irritated? There was just a hint of exasperation in those cultured tones.

We looked at each other again. I took the bull by the horns. "How do I do this?"

"Stand in front of the console." A circular area on the floor lit up. "Remain still."

I gave Perry's hand one last squeeze, and stepped forward onto the lit circle. I took a deep breath. Clark wasn't helping with his concerned expression – didn't he know that I needed him, as the resident Kryptonian and Fortress expert, to look confident right now? A beam of bright light washed over me. I closed my eyes.

Nothing else happened. I stood still for approximately sixty seconds. The light winked off – I could tell the difference even with shut eyelids. I opened my eyes, saw the light on the floor had dimmed as well, and stepped back to take Perry's hand again.

"The scan is complete, Martha Kent." Jor-El – the avatar – sounded the same. But I was getting good at picking up undertones. And the undertone I got was that Jor-El was distracted.

"Can you modify the download?" Clark bulled ahead. "Make it safe?"

"Uncertain," the avatar replied. "I need another human for comparison. May I scan Perry White?"

Perry's jaw dropped. "What?"

"What?" I asked too. Inwardly I wondered how the avatar knew Perry's full name. Then I kicked myself as I realized that it had probably gotten the knowledge from me.

"I request a scan of Perry White," the avatar repeated patiently.

Clark chuckled. "Your call, Perry."

Perry shut his mouth with a click. "Of course." It was his turn to squeeze my hand and step up to the lighted circle.

This time I managed to keep my eyes open. Perry swallowed nervously before the brighter light switched on, and his scan seemed to take longer. I wished I'd checked my watch, but my impression was that his scan took two or three minutes. It seemed much longer.

Clark must have felt so too, evidenced by the restless tapping of his toe on the floor.

The bright light finally switched off, and the avatar repeated, "The scan is complete, Perry White." Perry came back to me and took my hand. There was something extremely disconcerting about this whole process. Maybe I'd read too many _National Enquirer_ stories about aliens and their probes. A careful smile crept over my face at the thought.

Clark swayed on his feet, his tension evident. The avatar said nothing for a few minutes, its expression turned inward. None of us spoke. Finally the avatar looked up.

"Well?" Clark asked.

"The download may be modified successfully," the avatar said. "However, Martha Kent may not receive the download due to extreme danger."

I stared at Clark, both of us perplexed. It was me who said, "Huh?" Simultaneously, Clark burst out, "Explain, please."

"The download as modified requires constant monitoring of the human subject," the avatar said. "Martha Kent is infected by the Brain Interactive Construct." Clark and I stared at each other. It was like a slap in the face. "If she receives the download, this Fortress will become infected as well. The risk is too great."

I could say nothing. My stomach was hollow.

"_What?_" Perry and Clark said it simultaneously.

Then Perry got that newsman look. "Clark, you said that this Fortress belonged to Kara and – "

" – and Brainiac, before, right," Clark groaned. "Brainiac must have contaminated the seed crystals somehow."

I almost sighed in relief. They didn't know.

Clark took the lead. "Jor-El? Is that possible?" He assumed the avatar knew what he spoke of.

The avatar didn't disappoint. "The previous instantiation of the Fortress, in its formation, had the Brain Interactive Construct as one of its controllers. The Construct does not control this instantiation of the Fortress, but Brainiac has contaminated the seed elements with a surface infection."

Perry coughed.

"Yes!" Clark roused from his reverie. "Martha….Brainiac…."

Perry hugged me closer. Then he stiffened. "Clark," he said carefully.

"Yes?"

"Let me think this through. This, um, instantiation of this Fortress – its elements - had a, quote, _surface infection_, unquote, of Brainiac."

"Yes, that's what Jor-El said."

"And you were saying, or the avatar was, something about the people who touched the seed crystal right before this whole thing grew up…" Perry gestured to the vaulted beams so far above us, the crystalline skyscraper.

"Yes?" Clark said warily. I felt a deep unease. I thought I knew where Perry was going with this.

"Martha touched the crystal right then, and so did you."

"Right."

Perry swooped in for the kill. Except it wasn't a kill. It was a deeply scary thought. "What if _you're_ infected too?"

The half-considering look on Clark's face vanished, replaced a moment later by panic. I saw his face pale. "Oh God," Clark muttered. "What if I am?"

I swallowed. Clark had been true to his word so far, never harming anyone. Although, when the elements had called him, he'd been robotic and had forced me to yield one element to him. I still wasn't sure how I thought about that. Did I give him a pass for being mind-controlled? He'd scared me badly, then. But I believed that he wasn't in full possession of his senses when he'd forced me. I hoped he wasn't.

In fact, given our situation, we had become as close to friends as was possible. But, if Brainiac was there….I knew how Brainiac worked. It could take over Clark. And then we'd be right back where we started. Except things would be worse. Because if Brainiac took over Clark, he would know everything that Clark knew. Everything about the Resistance, and our hiding places, and our capabilities. And our weaknesses. We'd have a Kryptonian conquerer once more, and this time we wouldn't have a Clark Kent coming from another world to save us. We'd be ground under the Kryptonian heel once more.

I thought about entering the Fortress, and how I'd seen Clark enter. "You know, Clark," I mused, "when you first came in to the Fortress, you stepped through this veil of light."

"You did too."

"But listen. I saw you _disappear _just for a second when you stepped in. Did I do that?"

"You both did," Perry broke in. His quick mind drew the same conclusion I'd come to. "You think that's when the infection happened?"

"It makes sense," I said.

"Oh, God," Clark muttered. "Then it's possible. More than possible, it's likely." He strode to the area on the floor where our scans had taken place. "Jor-El! Scan me! I need to know if Brainiac has infected me, too."

"Report anything abnormal," Perry added.

"Yes! Report anything abnormal." Clark stood straight. "I need to know."

Once again, the light flashed down. This time, the scan lasted a full five minutes. My heart hammered. We'd never anticipated this. If it was true – if Clark were infected – then the fecal matter was about to hit the rotary air impeller. And we were all in the splatter zone.

The light blinked off. Clark stepped back – we all had, it made it easier to face the avatar.

"There are three anomalous findings," the avatar began.

"Three?" Clark asked.

"Three?" I said at the same time, surprised. I knew there would be one. I held my breath as the avatar went on.

"The first anomalous finding is the presence of a foreign object in your subcutaneous tissue between your scapulae." An object sprang into being, floating in midair in the center of the circle by the control console. Clark raised his eyebrows, and then passed his hand through it.

"Hologram," he muttered. "But a hologram of what?"

Perry had moved closer, intrigued. I stayed out of Clark's reach, although that was liable to be a moot point in a few minutes. My heart raced.

"Can you describe this more fully?" Perry asked. Darn him. Ever the newsman.

"It is a human-made object, about one centimeter long and three millimeters in diameter. Its outer capsule is made of biocompatible soda lime glass. Its inner contents consist of primitive microcircuitry" – an almost-imperceptible sneer from the A.I. here – "and a small transceiver for electromagnetic radiation. The wavelengths used are those commonly reserved for 'radio' by Earth humans."

"A transceiver?" Clark echoed.

Perry speculated, his restless newsman mind turning over alternatives. "Some sort of RFID device?" He stared at the chip and his face turned blank as he realized what it was. He stared at the chip and his face turned blank as he realized what it was. "Is this thing in Clark sending out radio messages?"

"Yes." The AI had no expression in its tone.

Clark got it a few seconds after Perry. "They microchipped me! Like a goddamn pet!" His initial surprise turned to anger. "No, like a car with Lojack!" He turned to me, fists clenched. "Martha, did you know about this?"

"No," I said truthfully. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to him. A greater surprise was hearing him swear. Clark never swore. My wide eyes must have convinced him of my innocence, because he turned back to the console. He must not have been monitoring my heartbeat, because he hadn't noticed it pounding in fear. I breathed quickly. I didn't know about _this_ one, but…

"It's got to be Lex," Clark said, almost to himself. "Who else?" He looked down. "So all this time, he's been tracking me, checking where I go." Clark definitely sounded bitter now.

Perry maintained a discreet silence.

"That bastard," Clark said quietly. "I even helped fix his satellites. He had to have been laughing about that. Telling me it would help communications. Sure it would. But poor dumb Clark didn't know they'd track him too."

"You fixed satellites?" I blurted out.

"Yeah," Clark said shortly. "Who else could get there? Who else would?" His fists clenched again. "Because Lex asked me, that's why. And this is what I get." He turned to the avatar. "What's Number Two Anomalous Finding?"

My heart sped up. This was it. I thought about edging away. But that would be futile.

"The second anomaly is the presence of a foreign body within your abdominal cavity."

I stiffened. The A.I. had found our insurance. My heart was pounding now and I took a deep breath.

"Describe and explain." Clark was no longer easy-going. This was terse, angry Clark.

A second hologram replaced the first one. "This irregularly shaped object is approximately twenty-five centimeters in diameter and is lodged in the peritoneal cavity, medial to the left kidney," the avatar intoned. "It consists of a block containing a mixture of pentaerythritrol tetranitrate, cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine and a plasticizer; a transceiver similar to that found in the first object; and a cylinder approximately six centimeters long by two centimeters in diameter. The cylinder is composed of element 82 and contains powdered element 126."

"I thought the periodic table only went up to 109 or so," Perry said.

"Um, I'm not sure," Clark said. He was trying to figure out the circumlocutions the avatar used. "I know element 82 is lead. I haven't heard of…." His voice trailed off as understanding blossomed. "It's kryptonite," he whispered. "Lex put kryptonite in me."

He looked at me. "Martha, did you know about _this_?" His voice was low and menacing.

My silence convicted me.

Clark did one of those moving-faster-than-the-eye-can-see bits again. He vanished from the console and appeared in front of me. "Martha, what do you know?" He stood before me, tall, strong. Blocking my escape. "What do you know?" He moved as if to shake my shoulders. At my stare, he pulled back, but still stood too near me.

"You will regret knowing this," I said coolly, ignoring my racing heart and churning guts. What I regretted mostly was that Clark had found out. I regretted that our kryptonite was tucked away in lead. I regretted that I was going to die now. I regretted that Clark would use the Fortress as the other Kryptonians had, conquering the Earth – or worse. And, most of all, I regretted my weakness. I'd had a chance to stop him, and I hadn't. Now everyone on Earth would pay.

"I know I will," Clark said inexorably. "Tell me anyway." I saw his thoughts percolating behind his eyes. And I saw the moment he figured it out.

"It's a bomb." He whispered that, too. "It's a bomb, isn't it? With a radio-controlled ignition?"

I looked away. It hadn't taken him long to figure it out. I felt the regret, but underneath that there was something else. I hadn't expected to feel ashamed.

Perry stood, frozen, watching us. I mentally urged him to go get the kryptonite. He should have stayed with it, instead of setting it down thirty feet away. God, we were sloppy. His face was an expressionless mask.

"When you came back from the Fortress the first time," I started, "you were unconscious." My voice trembled. I tried to steady it, but with an enraged Kryptonian looming over me, I couldn't. My heart hammered and my breath came in short gulps. At least I managed to keep looking him in the eyes. I didn't bow down. I'd go to my death standing up. "There was a big debate about killing you then."

"Which side were you on, Martha?" Clark asked quietly. The menace in his voice was worse than if he shouted.

"I was on the 'kill-you' side. I think you know that."

"I…had an idea. Go on."

"Chloe, and Lois, and Lex all argued for you. You know Lex, he's twisty. I think even then he was thinking of using you in some way."

"Yes."

"The debate kept on going on and you were starting to wake up. So we put you in the handcuffs and threw you in a cell. We kept on arguing about it for the next two days."

"I remember those two days." Clark's voice was perfectly controlled and yet oh so cold.

"Finally I said that every person on trial had the right to speak for himself."

"Glad you remembered your lawyer ethics. At that time." Disdain in his voice.

"You spun us a good line and made some promises."

"Which I've kept," Clark said. Did he sound a little hurt? Maybe it was just my imagination.

"We were deadlocked. Chloe, Lois, and Arthur were for you. Alicia, Andrea and I were against. Lex had the deciding vote. He suggested this."

"To keep me in line if I ever got uppity?" A dangerous tone.

"No, to protect us!" I shouted.

Clark loomed over me. I stood straight. I refused to cower. I felt his breath in my hair.

He turned on his heel and walked away, pacing back and forth. The rage boiled off him.

Perry came to me and I hugged him gratefully. I wanted to collapse but I had to be strong. Why wasn't I dead yet?

"How'd you get it in?" Clark and I both turned to look at Perry. "No, really. I'm curious." Perry said casually. "I've seen Clark and he's invulnerable. How do you do surgery on a guy like that?"

Clark whirled to face us. He was still angry. "Yeah, how?"

"It was Andrea. She had that heart transplant, you know. She got pretty good at medical stuff. Then, after the Kryptonians came and killed or wounded everyone – " I managed to get _that _in – "she was our go-to medic, and she learned a lot, patching us up after our….Resistance activities."

"How?" Clark repeated, taking a few steps toward me.

"I don't know how!" I said, exasperated. "I think they went when you were asleep, put more kryptonite near you, and injected you with some sort of anesthetic. Andrea said that you healed right up when they took the kryptonite away." _That _I could believe. I'd seen his healing power myself. Back when he'd asked me to mutilate his hands so he could escape. And save me. I pushed that memory away.

Clark came to face Perry and me. He stood in front of me, forcing me to look up to meet his gaze. He seemed so much taller now. "So, basically, every day I've been here, I've lived on your sufferance. Every day, I'm walking on a tightrope. Every day, if you don't like me, you could snuff me out, kill me by lifting your finger."

I looked around at the Fortress, knowing the illimitable power encased in these alien crystals. I thought of the genocide the other Kryptonians had committed, the destruction they'd wrought on our fair Earth, the pitiful remainder – damaged and scarred – of the human race. I put all my anger, all my hate into my reply.

"And how is that so different from what _you_ could do to _us_?"


	28. Chapter 28

"Well, that went well," Perry observed.

I gave him a look. Clark had stormed out, if you could call disappearing in a red-blue blur _storming out_. As before, when he left, the avatar winked out and Jor-El would not answer my call. Perry and I sat at the table, waiting, with no other option.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're not dead," Perry said cheerfully.

"I expected to be." I let go of some of my nervous energy and slumped in my seat.

Perry dropped the cheerful act and turned serious. "I wondered."

"You weren't sure?" I asked.

"If we were facing Zod," Perry began, "we'd be ashes right now. In fact, I've seen that more than once." His face blanked, masking his emotions.

"Zod came to the _Daily Planet _building often?" I probed.

"Yes. Way too much for my taste. He liked having a whole building of underlings bowing and scraping and being afraid to lift their eyes to him."

"Even the collaborators?" I asked, curious.

"Even them. You didn't dare look Zod in the eye. He'd make you pay."

"So…."

"So when I saw you face down Clark, even though he had reason to be angry, I knew he wasn't Zod."

I swallowed. "No. He isn't."

"In fact," Perry went on, "when he brought you into the _Daily Planet _for the first time, I had some bad déjà vu. But, you know, Martha, if we didn't know he was Kryptonian, I'd say he's a pretty good guy." He paused in thought. "In fact, even knowing that he _is _Kryptonian, I still think he's a pretty good guy."

I didn't want to admit it. I felt the same.

"In fact, I can sympathize. I'd be pretty mad if that was done to me."

I turned to Perry, eyes flashing. "You should know better! You saw Zod and the other ones!" I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to calm down. "Can't you understand why we did it?"

Perry frowned. "Yeah. And, if you'd asked me right after the overthrow, I'd have totally agreed with you. And I still understand it." He rubbed his brow. "Now, after seeing Clark, after working with him for six months, I've got a pretty good impression of his character." He snorted. "Heck, I got the same impression when I met him the first time, when he picked me up in the rain and gave me a lift to the _Planet._" He leaned forward. "He's a good guy, Martha. He's not going to do any of those things in your nightmares."

"How do you know?" I challenged Perry.

"Come on, Martha. I've been a reporter for over thirty years. You don't think reporters get to be good at sizing people up?" Perry chuckled. "And you're a lawyer. Don't tell me that you don't do the same."

I looked away. "I know," I said in a small voice. "He is a good guy." A long pause. "I'm just so afraid."

Perry awkwardly patted me on the back. "I know."

There was a long silence.

Perry broke it. "Who you should really be afraid of is Lex."

"Why?" Not that I hadn't thought the same thing, I was just interested in Perry's reasons.

"He's a guy that doesn't like to share power. And Clark, just by existing, represents a focus of power that Lex can't control if Clark decides he doesn't want to be controlled. So Lex has a contingency plan in case Clark doesn't play along. He can call it what he likes, but that's what it is."

I nodded. Perry had put in words what I'd been feeling over the last few months.

"So, he has Clark working for him willingly. And if Clark found out about the bomb – which he has – then even if Clark is unwilling, he still has to work for Lex."

"Machiavellian." I murmured the word.

"Lex is like that," Perry said, shrugging. "If he saw me as a threat I'm sure he'd arrange some sort of accident. Heck, remember when I first met Clark?"

"Lex had confiscated your vehicle."

"Just showing that he could. And because I was annoying him, asking questions." Perry chuckled. "Since Clark started working at the _Planet _there's been a lot less harassment. Even if Clark doesn't know it."

I nodded.

"So I'm not stupid enough to confront Lex. Not that I want his job anyway," Perry said. "Rebuilding the country – no way."

"You're doing a lot with the _Planet_," I pointed out.

"Sure. And, when the _Planet _building was the only one in Metropolis with heat and light and power, I had my own power base. Yeah, it was Collaborator Central, but at least we weren't freezing. Lex had Metropolis base and the moral authority of the Resistance, and I had the _Planet. _I sort of inherited it when George Taylor got killed and I became the new Editor-In-Chief. Now that the weather is back to normal, that's not as critical. And I've deliberately chosen to support Lex. I always portray him as the leader by virtue of a human transition of power."

"He did get elected at the Constitutional Convention."

"And that's right. He did go through the motions. He's the duly elected President and leader of our country. He's got legitimacy. And we need that right now. We don't need some sort of power struggle. We've had enough warlords and petty barons. Lex is doing a great job rebuilding." Perry leaned forward. "What I'm worried about is when his term runs out."

"You think he won't go peacefully, don't you?" I wasn't surprised. I felt the same.

"Yes. Lex will work up some reason, but mark my words, he'll end up being President-for-Life Luthor unless we do something to stop him."

"Clark could stop him."

"Clark can't do anything to oppose Lex, right now," Perry said earnestly. "That's why I'd think twice about keeping him under the gun."

"What are you saying?"

"Maybe that explosive device can be removed. Then Clark's a free agent."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"Hey, I laid out my agenda. I guess when it comes right down to it, I trust Clark more than I trust Lex." Perry held my gaze. "How about you?"

I looked away. It was the same for me. Except that Clark was Kryptonian. That trumped everything else.

The annoying little voice of my conscience popped up. Clark hadn't harmed me, it insisted on reminding me. I suspected sometimes that Clark looked at me and saw his mother. So, in his view, his mother had acquiesced to a conspiracy to violate his body. How could he not be angry? Why hadn't he hurt me? If he hadn't hurt me under this provocation, what did that mean for the future?

Perry broke my ruminations. "Don't worry, Martha. I'll present a united front and back you up. We humans have to stick together." Perry got up, paced a little. "But if you change your mind, I'll help you. Or if you decide that it's time to take that bomb out of Clark, you can count on me."

Why did people keep on dumping decisions like this on me?

* * *

Clark didn't blur in the way he'd blurred out. Instead, he landed at the Fortress entrance, and walked in stiffly. This time, I didn't see the blue flash with the silver edges.

I sat, hands clasped, body deliberately still, at the table. I couldn't still my pounding heart and again, cursed that Clark knew my fear. He approached Perry and me, and stood for a moment looming over us.

Then he sat down at the table. He stared at me, weariness in every line of his body. His eyes….I hadn't noticed until today, that when he looked at me, there was….something. Maybe it was affection. Or hope? I hadn't noticed it till today, because today, it was gone. His eyes were bleak and empty. .

"Hello," I offered hesitantly. It seemed as if it wasn't my destiny to die today at the hands of an enraged Kryptonian.

"Hello."

Silence.

I looked at Perry. He looked at me. Perry responded to my unspoken plea. "Where'd you go?"

"Flying."

Silence.

This time Perry let the silence draw out. Clark finally caved in first.

"I go flying….it helps me when I'm…."

_Angry_, I filled in mentally. Clark didn't say it.

"I thought I should come back…."

_Yes, you should come back, because we're stuck up here without you. Can't go out and hike home, we'll freeze. Can't fly home, only you can do that. And we can't even talk to the A.I. and set up the portal system it had before. _Once again, I didn't have the guts to say it out loud to Clark. Although I was going to have to eventually, if he didn't bring it up himself. Even though it was going to be extremely awkward, asking a favor of the man who'd just learned he was under your death threat.

Clark cleared his throat. "I thought I should come back because Jor-El said there were three anomalies. He only talked about two."

"That's right!" I exclaimed, happy to have something else to talk about. "Let's ask him." Maybe I could mention the portal system while the A.I. was online and get it going, so we weren't dependent on Clark for our transportation.

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "OK."

Perry and I exchanged gazes again. There was more than a hint of apathy in Clark's tone.

I got up and walked to the control console. Clark and Perry followed me.

"Jor-El," I called. Clark listlessly echoed my call.

The avatar winked into existence.

I gestured, metaphorically ceding the floor to Clark. He stepped up.

"Jor-El, you said that you had found three anomalies on my scan. You described two of them. What is the third?"

The avatar didn't pull any punches. "You are infected by the Brain Interactive Construct."

Clark fell back a step, and I could almost feel his shock and horror. He composed himself and turned to me.

"Looks like you might need to use that bomb after all, Martha."

* * *

An hour later, we sat exhausted at the crystalline table. The three of us had discussed the situation thoroughly. Perry, perhaps not so surprisingly, had asked the best questions. He'd quizzed the avatar on angles that would never have occurred to me, and had looked at things in a whole new way.

Clark had been quiet at first. I wasn't sure if it was still from anger at me and Lex, or horror at his predicament – under siege both in body and mind. As time went on, he took a greater part in the conversation.

The gist was this: it was assumed that Clark and I had been infected when we first entered the Fortress, as the new "owners". Brainiac had "wrapped itself" around the elements, apparently expecting to subvert and take over the Fortress AI when the elements melded into the seed crystal and the crystal underwent its next instantiation.

Brainiac had not counted on human blood – mine – touching the element before melding. He had not counted on the AI being able to scan me and use strategies gained from me and my personality and my human background. That non-Kryptonian, human, part that contributed to the Fortress AI had inadvertently hampered Brainiac's plan.

Basically, the accident of my blood staining the element had saved us. It had enabled Jor-El to fight off the Brainiac subversion that was meant to take effect when the Fortress was re-instantiated. But Jor-El was not able to clear the infection, and when we had first entered the Fortress, Brainiac had swooped in with a secondary plan. The A.I. had not intended for us to become infected, but the protean nature of the robotic Kryptonian construct had allowed it to bypass or override Jor-El's intentions.

"Brainiac – he's like cockroaches," I muttered. "You stomp on them and think you've killed them all but they always come back."

That wrought a reluctant smile from Clark.

Perry had next quizzed the A.I. at length about what could be done. After much discussion (punctuated by Clark's frequent (and laborious) translation of Kryptonian terms for which there was no Earthly equivalent) it seemed as if we could rid ourselves of Brainiac. But it would be difficult.

The best way of describing it was that Jor-El could create a virtual reality, a seemingly-real world that would represent our psyches. We would journey through the metaphorical forest of our souls, and Jor-El promised that we would see the Brainiac spoor as something out of the ordinary. If we could see it, we could fight it. And hopefully we could kill it.

Jor-El would not be able to help us with the fight, as any use of "force" on his part would make the Fortress vulnerable to infection. At the thought of this new Fortress belonging to the enemy, even Clark paled.

Metaphorical travel did not imply real travel. Clark and I need only stand near the control console, and Jor-El would take care of getting us to the virtual reality place where we could fight Brainiac. Jor-El didn't expect the fight to take long – an hour at most. I sneaked a glance at Clark; he seemed as nervous as I.

Perry would be a bystander and witness. Clark had offered to fly him back to Metropolis. Perry had declined. And he'd asked some more uncomfortable questions.

"What if it doesn't work?"

The avatar replied. "Then, most likely, Kal-El and Martha Kent will be permanently infected by Brainiac. Given your previous statements to me, my recommendation would be to neutralize them at the first opportunity."

_Neutralized, _I thought. _Such an emotionless euphemism for "killed."_

"How will I know?"

"This Fortress will resist infection for as long as possible. However, if its founders are subverted, their minds will serve as an avenue for control of the Fortress. I will be able to give you only sixty seconds warning, Perry White."

"If that happens, Perry, _get out_," Clark said earnestly. "Get out while you can. Go to Lex and tell him to set off that bomb."

"How am I supposed to get out?" Perry asked, not unreasonably.

"Jor-El?"

"The portal system is now activated. Take this crystal, Perry White." A small oblong arose in that eerie, gravity-defying way, from the tubes of the control console. Perry grasped it hesitantly. "If you will it, the crystal will activate and transport you to the – " Jor-El uttered a phrase in liquid Kryptonian syllables.

"Uh, the closest place to Metropolis, which right now would be the Kawatche caves," Clark said.

"That's the best you can do?" Perry asked. "The caves aren't all that close." Left unspoken was the realization that a Brainiac-infected Clark could easily fly from the Fortress to the caves much faster than Perry could get to Lex. We all knew it. But the portal was Perry's – and humanity's – only chance.

"Jor-El?" Clark asked.

"Growth of another portal site may be initiated but will take approximately two Earth days to complete," the A.I. intoned.

Clark shrugged.

"We can't wait that long," I said.

"No, we can't," Perry agreed. He addressed the A.I. "But, when this is all over, I think Martha could use a portal in the Daily Planet building. It would be a lot more convenient for her." He said nothing about Clark. All of us knew that, for him, distance was no barrier.

"We'll put it on the to-do list," I muttered sarcastically.

"You could go back right now, and be ready," Clark said in a considering tone.

"What?" Perry asked.

"If you went back to Metropolis now, Jor-El could probably figure out some way to tell you if, um, we were successful. And if we weren't, then you'd be right there and you could set off the bomb."

Hmm. That was a good idea. Even with Clark's speed, if Perry were waiting by the controls, Jor-El could probably give enough warning that Perry would be able to detonate the bomb before Clark was able to stop him.

"No." Perry said it instantly.

"Why not?"

"Because, Clark, if I come back to Metropolis alone, people will ask questions. Lex will find out. He'll set off that bomb whether you're successful or not." Perry smiled. "I've known you long enough. I'm going to bet on you. You'll defeat Brainiac."

Clark's eyes widened. Then he blinked rapidly. The expression on his face told me that no one had showed that kind of confidence in him before. At least, no one on our world had. I felt ashamed that I couldn't have said what Perry just had.

And with that, silence fell. Uncomfortable silence. We had to do it. We had to go and fight Brainiac. We were tired, hungry (at least Perry and I were), and scared. The past hours had seen a breaking of the casual rapprochement we'd shared with Clark – he'd found that, when it came right down to it, we didn't trust him. What would that mean for our fight? Why did I always end up working with him when it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do?

I stared at Perry. In the last six months, he'd cajoled me out of my shell, brightened my days, and stirred me to a greater good by his actions, his confidence in the face of danger, and his perpetual smile. He'd become a true friend. What if I never saw him again, as myself? Brainiac would come up with some ingenious torture for Perry, I knew.

And I knew so much about the Resistance – how we'd fought off the alien invaders before. If Brainiac got all my knowledge…..if he took over Clark as well…how could we fight and win again? Winning once was a fluke, a miracle. We wouldn't be so lucky twice. To see the world enslaved again, and to be the enslaver…. What if we couldn't defeat Brainiac?

No. That was no way to think. I'd come through tremendous odds before. I would win. We would win. I braced my shoulders and stood straight.

"Perry…." I hugged him.

"Be careful, Martha," he said quietly, holding me. His somber voice lacked its usual cheer. He'd obviously been thinking of dire scenarios too.

Clark stood, impassive, watching us. A fleeting expression of surprise crossed his face when Perry came to him and offered his hand. I suddenly realized that people didn't shake Clark's hand very often.

"Good luck, Clark." The confidence was back in Perry's tone.

Clark flashed a weak smile. I noticed he was standing straighter as well. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

"Take care of Martha."

Clark turned to eye me with an indecipherable gaze. "If she takes care of me."

Perry only nodded.

Clark and I didn't shake hands. The memory of our argument was too fresh. We tacitly agreed not to say anything about the recent unpleasantness. But, as ever, necessity is the harshest master. We were two in a sinking boat. We had to work together to survive.

"Are you ready?" Perry asked us both.

_No! _I wanted to shout. _This is crazy! Let's go home and forget we ever came here. _"I'm ready."

Clark said the same thing at the same time. We stepped up to the area in front of the control console.

"Do we have to hold hands, or something?" I asked.

Clark smiled mirthlessly. "I think that would be a bad idea."

He must have seen that I took it as a snub. "I meant that, in case I move, or something, um, you don't have super-strength…."

"Oh."

Perry had withdrawn a far distance away, and I saw the kryptonite glowing green in his hand. "Can you feel that?" I asked Clark.

"A little bit."

I gestured to Perry and he moved farther back. Clark relaxed slightly. "That's better."

If we were subverted, hopefully the kryptonite would allow Perry the time he needed to run. A bad thought crept into my head – I wasn't vulnerable to kryptonite. Brainiac might use me to….

No. Not thinking that. In fact, it was time to get going. No sense in standing here worrying about it. I turned to Clark, just in time to meet him turning to me. Simultaneously, we said, "Ready."

We had matching awkward smiles as the light came down and whisked us away to another world.


	29. Chapter 29

We were in a dark wood…or was it a labyrinth of halls like those I'd seen in government facilities worldwide….or was it a grey moonscape, cratered and empty of any sign of life, the horizon impossibly clear? Somehow it was all and none of these.

I looked over and saw Clark, looked down at myself. We appeared the same as we'd been in the Fortress. He wore the spandex Suit, and he'd put back on his farm boots. I wore my sandals, and hoped that we wouldn't have to go on any long walks. He glanced around nervously, just as I was doing.

I felt a compulsion to move. I knew, somehow, that if I went one way, I would come to…..myself; if I went the other way, I would come to Clark. Watching Clark, I saw he felt the same pull.

"Who first, you or me?" I honestly didn't know which I preferred.

"I don't know." Clark hesitated for a minute. "Flip a coin?"

"OK." I hadn't thought the spandex suit had pockets, but Clark pulled out a quarter from somewhere. "Just a minute. Let me see that."

He unhesitatingly passed it over, raising his brows. It was a perfectly normal twenty-five cent piece.

"Just checking."

Clark looked bemused. "What, you think I have a two-headed coin or something?" At my embarrassed glance away, he added, "Who do you think I am, Lex Luthor?"

I had to laugh. One of Lex's most inbred characteristics was stacking the odds in his favor. Clark met my eyes – he was laughing too. A moment of camaraderie passed between us before I remembered the situation and looked away awkwardly.

I passed it back. "You toss. I'll guess. Winner gets to pick."

"You don't want to toss?"

"Tell me if this is true. You can see the flips in midair and you'll know how it lands."

This time it was Clark's turn to look shifty. "OK. I toss. You guess. Ready?" He suited the action to the word and snapped the quarter in a beautiful display of coin flippery.

"Tails never fails," I said confidently. The quarter landed on the ground.

Heads.

"Darn it."

"I guess I get to pick, then," Clark said. He stood for a minute, looking off into the distance of the forest or labyrinth or whatever it was. "We'll go that way."

To my relief, he pointed to the area which was….him.

"I thought you'd take me….I mean that direction…first."

Clark gazed at me. "According to the philosophers, the unexamined life is not worth living." He said it sardonically.

There were _so_ many things I could say in response. I settled for an inarticulate "Uh". And we walked off together, toward the tangled underbrush and dark forest of Clark's soul.

"How do you think we'll know Brainiac?" I asked neutrally.

Clark didn't look at me as we forged our way through what was becoming a tangled mat of undergrowth. "I don't know. Jor-El promised we would. I guess let's just keep our eyes open."

A metallic glint peeped through the thorns. "What's that?"

"Let's go find out." Clark pushed his way through, the thorns entangling in the spandex but not dissuading him. I muttered a quick thank-you that it was him breaking the trail and not me.

We came into an open clearing. In the center was a smooth ovoid with a flanged rim. It had that Kryptonian look to it – the lines just screamed _alien._

"It's my ship." Clark stared at it, bemused.

"Your ship?"

"In my world, I was sent to Earth from Krypton as a baby. This is the ship I came in."

I leaned over to look at it. Clark pulled me back.

"What?"

Clark nodded at our surroundings. They had morphed from a forest clearing to what I recognized as the storm cellar on the Kent Farm. And, standing facing each other, the ship between them, were two figures. I recognized them as a younger Clark and, based on the features, one of the Ross boys. I'd stayed good friends with Abby Ross even after Jonathan and I had divorced, and I knew all her kids. But this one seemed unfamiliar.

"I think I know when we are," my Clark muttered. He didn't look happy.

At his mutter, the Ross boy began speaking. "So….you're saying you're some kind of alien? Not human?"

The younger Clark leaned forward. "Pete…." he said earnestly.

I realized two things. Number one, this was Pete Ross, who'd been nine years old when I moved out of Smallville and back to Metropolis. And two, something very strange was going on.

The two figures in Clark's memory continued to gesticulate at each other, and I felt it. To be more specific, I felt what the younger Clark felt. When Pete looked at him in suspicion, I felt his resolve to convince the shorter boy of his harmlessness. When young Clark moved toward Pete, and Pete automatically backed away, I experienced the younger Clark's confusion and then sickened realization. And when Pete stormed out of the cellar, I stood there in the place of the young Clark and felt the desolation and fear.

With a gasp, I stumbled, and I was myself again. Clark – the older one, the one wearing the Suit – caught me by the elbow.

"I'd tried to forget that part of it," he said dispassionately.

"What?" I was still dazed.

"The first time I told someone about myself. You know, the alien thing." Clark kept a stone face. "That didn't go all that well."

"Why'd you tell him anyway?" I asked, curious.

Clark sighed a bit. "I was young. He was my best friend. And I kind of had to, because he found my ship."

"He found your ship? Pete Ross?"

"Long story." Clark sighed again. The strange thing happened again. I met his eyes for just a moment, and I was whirled into a cloud of memory.

_Going with Pete in the truck to the cornfield where the ship had crashed….picking it up, trying to convince Pete to take it to the Kent Farm, but Pete insisting he take it to his own shed….stealing the ship back in the dead of night….getting caught lying about it…..deciding to come clean…._

The memories cut off and I stumbled again.

"What was that?" Clark asked. He looked just as flustered as me, the stone face broken.

"Clark…..did you pick up that ship in a cornfield?"

He nodded slowly.

"Did Pete help you?"

He nodded again, beginning to suspect. "Are you…."

"I think I'm getting your memories."

For a second, an undecipherable look of – was it horror? Fear? - crossed Clark's face. "Oh my God…." he whispered. His mouth worked but no sound came out. And, frightening me, I got an echo of what he felt. Apprehension. Anger. Embarassment. Fear. Then, after a minute, resignation and, growing stronger, a firm resolve – a sense of a dirty job that had to be done.

"Not really what I expected," he said dryly.

_Or wanted, _I filled in.

"Brainiac?" That was it, let's focus on the mission, we've got a lot to do here, let's not think about weird Kryptonian mind-melds. All that was in Clark's matter-of-fact tone.

I glanced frantically around the cellar. Anything to not have to meet Clark's eyes. The younger Clark had disappeared and the two of us were alone in the Kent Farm storm cellar. "Uh…."

A silvery sparkle caught my eye. I pushed back some jars on the dusty shelves. In the back was a pint Mason jar filled with liquid silver.

"That's it!" Clark reached for the jar. "That's Brainiac."

I said nothing but agreed. The silver was alien, out of place in this hole literally dug in our Earth.

The jar slipped away from Clark's grasp. He reached for it again and once again it avoided his fingers. He tried repeatedly.

"I can't catch it," he said, turning to me. "Can you?"

"I need a step stool," I said, scanning the cellar. The mote of Brainiac infection was (of course) on the top shelf, toward the back, out of my reach. We both looked around. Unfortunately, the cellar was devoid of any obvious candidates.

"I can lift you," Clark said hesitantly.

I paused for a minute. "OK." We needed to root out Brainiac. That was the job we had to do. The fact that, once again, I was scared to have Clark touch me, scared to be so completely within his power, made no difference to what I had to do. Well, it was only a virtual world. I felt a little happier when I remembered that.

He gently placed his hands at my hips. "Ready?"

"OK."

He lifted me with the ease he'd used every time before. I leaned forward and grabbed the jar with no problem. Clark set me down. His hand brushed my bare arm and I almost dropped the jar as, with the skin-to-skin contact, I got a more intense flash of his feelings.

Frustration at not being able to grab the jar…..annoyance and sadness at my being frightened of him again….a lingering embarrassment at having his private moment disclosed….underneath it all, that same strong resolve. The sheer intensity of the feelings left me when he stopped touching me.

God, this was way too intimate. I already knew more about Clark in some ways than I had known about Jonathan after ten years of marriage. I didn't want to know more. And I had a bad feeling that what I wanted didn't matter. And… was he getting my feelings in return?

My feet touched the floor and I handed the jar to Clark. Or rather, I tried. He was unable to grasp it, no matter what he did.

"I think I'm seeing a pattern here."

"Me too."

Clark paced. "I can't touch the Brainiac that's in me, in my memories. But you can."

"Can you destroy it? With your heat vision or something?"

"Set it there." I set the jar carefully on the earthen floor and stood off to the side. Clark squinted and I saw his eyes turn red. That was something that would give me the shivers no matter how often I saw it. Face it, heat vision was creepy.

I saw the red grow stronger. My skin grew uncomfortably hot, even though I stood next to Clark, far away from the jar. He must be dialing it up to blast furnace level, I thought. The air took on the hazy ripples of a hot summer day. The ground around the jar dried, baked, cracked into a hardpan of fused earth. My eyes watered.

The jar sat on the floor, untouched.

The red died from Clark's eyes. "I guess not." He looked hopeful. "Can _you_ destroy it? You could touch it."

"I'll give it a try." I looked around the cellar. Clark handed me an iron – an actual pressing iron, back in the days before electric steaming irons, back when "ironing your clothes" meant heating metal irons on a hot stove. I took it by its handle and knelt by the jar. I brought the iron down on the jar with all my might.

It bounced off. This was no ordinary Mason jar.

"I don't think I can destroy it either." This wasn't good. How could we clear ourselves of Brainiac's infection? "Got any ideas?"

"Not really. Other than to go through, um, my memories and find all the Brainiac bits and pieces. Maybe by going through, or at the end, we'll figure out something." Clark shrugged. "You?"

"I don't have any better ideas, other than that we shouldn't leave this here."

"True." Clark looked troubled. "I think that means you have to carry it. I can't touch it."

We both looked around the cellar. The best option seemed to be an ancient picnic basket, surprisingly still sound. I put the jar into the basket. As I did, the lid moved, and I heard Brainiac's voice.

_You're an alien….no one will ever accept you. _

I shot a look back at Clark. He was quick to put his poker face back on, but I'd caught the echo of loss and hurt. We stared at each other.

"I spent a lot of time thinking that," Clark finally admitted. "I still think it at times."

"Oh."

Clark nodded to me, and followed me up the cellar stairs to the light.

We went back out into the flat light. Clark headed toward another area. The light shifted and suddenly we were _elsewhen _again.

There was a confusing potpourri of quick scenes. Clark saving someone from a meteor mutant. Clark selling Kent Farm Organic Vegetables at the farmer's market. Clark teasing Chloe at her newspaper office at Smallville High – a happy, innocent Chloe, not the battle-scarred, hardened warrior I knew. Clark chatting with Lex Luthor – Lex looked the same, lean and dangerous no matter what world he was in. Clark saving someone else from another meteor mutant. In all these moments, there was a constant knowledge of being alien, having a secret, having to hide.

What floored me was the scene of Clark having dinner with his parents. No big deal to him then – he could eat with them every night. I marveled at Jonathan, happily talking to his son, and at the other Martha, who gazed at the men in her life with happy possessiveness and pride. I ached inside. Why should they be so happy when I was so miserable?

I picked up more Brainiac-stuff at each scene. The silver stuff murmured _Alien, Outcast, Hide_ in every scene. I thought of how Clark had come to our world and how he was unable to hide. Everyone knew he was alien. Everyone reviled him. And yet, hidden in his own world, or overt in ours, and despite the provocations we'd heaped on him, he acted the same – friendly and helpful.

"You saved a lot of people," I ventured.

"I never kept count." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Martha, I don't think you're going to like what I'm going to show you next."

That worried me. Clark had been quite the unsung hero before. In fact, he seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was my lawyer training, but if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. "Am I to understand that we're finally getting to the real dirt?"

"You might say that." He clasped my hand, and I felt reluctance and embarrassment and even some resentment, but also that firm resolve. He would lay himself open in front of me, no matter how much he hated it. I shuddered to think that I would have to do the same when my turn came. Show myself, all of myself, to the person I had wronged… I deliberately turned my mind away from that.

I saw Clark, a younger Clark, in Metropolis. He looked odd until I realized that he was dressed in black. The Clark I knew almost always dressed in blue and red. The younger Clark I saw looked different in another way. He looked _dangerous_.

He swaggered through the streets, entering a bar. Loud music almost deafened me. I seemed tied to his younger self's point of view. He strode past the writhing bodies and came up to the bar. He demanded a drink and gulped it down. I tasted the liquor, the heat in the back of my throat.

He stepped out into an alley. Thugs came to attack him. Rage rose within him, along with an unholy glee. He let them shoot him, the bullets bouncing off his torso. Then he advanced. I felt his pleasure as he tossed one attacker into a wall. The man collapsed in an unmoving heap. Clark snarled as he broke another man's arm, the sound of the snap pleasing him and horrifying me. I felt him savor his domination, felt him enjoy how effortlessly he disposed of his attackers.

He howled. He had the power, and he would rule. He viewed the bodies of his attackers, sprawled on the concrete of the alleyway, and savored his domination. He would rule. Humans would bow before him.

Someone touched my arm. It was the older Clark, the Clark I'd grown to know on this world. I stumbled. I'd been sucked into the memories of younger Clark. "I'd hoped you wouldn't see that." Through his touch, I felt his shame.

I couldn't speak. It was in him. Deep down, Clark was Kal-El, the conqueror. He had fed us a good line, but…

"Martha." Older Clark had his hands on my shoulders and turned me away from the scene of his past. "I'm not like that."

I breathed hard, shaking with fear. I said nothing, just pointed to his younger self standing over the fallen bodies of his adversaries. Zod had stood like that.

"I can't deny that it's in me…" Clark said hesitantly. "But, Martha, it's the red kryptonite."

"Red kryptonite?" I'd only ever seen green K.

"It's an isotope of the mineral… it's rare." Clark hadn't let go of me, and I felt both his urge to convince me, and his sincerity. "It removes my inhibitions."

"Oh." That was all I could say, as horrific scenarios tossed through my mind. I pulled back from him and he let me go.

"When I'm on it, I'll do what I want, say what I feel… I don't care. I'll hurt anybody."

I felt Clark's shame. There was nothing I could say. The scene shifted and his shame turned to anguish.

He moved closer to me and I fell into his memories again. Surprise held me frozen. His mother – my counterpart – pregnant? Jealousy raged through me. I had been barren. Then Clark's memories told me why. He had found the ship that had brought him from Krypton to Earth. A complicated backstory whirled its way through our minds. His mother was sick. The only way to heal her was to use Kryptonian technology. He found a way to make the ship emit a healing ray.

None of them had known that it would cure Martha Kent in all respects, that she could be fertile now. And so she conceived and carried a baby. She joyously awaited its birth.

I sifted through Clark's memories. He stood back and let me. I sensed, from his flinching, that these were memories he didn't want to re-live.

Younger Clark had made contact with the Artificial Intelligence on his Earth. Jor-El had told him that he should conquer the Earth, dominate the inhabitants. _"Rule them with strength, my son_," the AI had told Clark.

I felt Clark's refusal. Older Clark wasn't ashamed to show me _that_ memory. The Clark in the memories was frantic – how could he escape his Kryptonian father's edict? Young Clark set up a plan to destroy the spaceship, the ship which seemed to be the host for the Artificial Intelligence.

And then, tragedy and disaster. Young Clark destroyed the spaceship. But his parents were nearby, and they were caught in the explosion. His mother miscarried. I felt older Clark's anguish, as fresh as it was on the day that it happened.

Young Clark's mother lay in a hospital bed. Clark stood out in the hallway, trying to meet Jonathan's eyes.

The younger Clark could hardly meet his father's eyes. "Dad… I didn't have a choice. I had to destroy the ship."

Jonathan said angrily, "And why didn't you tell us?"

Young Clark looked down. "I knew you wouldn't agree with what I did. Dad, I didn't want the ship to take me away from you."

Jonathan was hoarse with the effort of holding back his tears. "Your actions have consequences, Clark. Didn't your mother and I ever teach you that?"

"Yes, but…"

Jonathan turned his back on his son. "This time there's no excuses, Clark. It's too late." He choked back tears. "You didn't think this thing through, you had no idea of what was going to happen, and now…" He turned to meet Clark's eyes. "Now your mother is lying in a hospital bed."

A woman's voice cut off Clark's reply. "Mr. Kent?"

"Doctor, how is my wife?"

"She has a mild concussion, but she'll be fine," the doctor said reassuringly.

There was a long pause. Jonathan finally broke it.

"And how is the baby?"

The doctor's eyes were kind. "I'm sorry." Jonathan and Clark hardly noticed when she walked away.

"Dad…" Clark pleaded.

Jonathan turned his back on Clark. He walked into Martha's hospital room and closed the door behind him, leaving Clark alone in the hospital corridor. Clark looked through the window. His parents held each other in a tight embrace, sharing their sorrow.

"I'm here, sweetheart, I'm here," Jonathan whispered to his sobbing wife. Neither of them looked at Clark.

Young Clark, anguished, sped away. He ran to the high school, where he knew the class rings waited. The class rings with red kryptonite in them.

Deliberately he opened the drawer, pushing away Pete Ross's attempts to dissuade him. Deliberately he picked up a ring. And deliberately, he slipped the red kryptonite onto his finger.

His grief dropped away. The almost unbearable guilt diminished, until he was able to wad it up and hide it away. He gave himself over to hedonism. The red kryptonite kept him from feeling grief and guilt. He didn't want to have a conscience now. He spent three months in his drug-fueled haze.

I saw him gulp down alcohol, cursing the fact that it didn't affect him. I felt him stride into nightclubs, and feel pleasure at the way everyone cowered from him. The bartender was quick to serve him.

He ripped open ATM's and scooped up the cash. He bought a Lamborghini, drove it for an evening, and gave it away. He robbed a bank. The police shot him, and he shrugged off the bullets. Richocheting projectiles almost killed a policewoman, and he didn't care. He beat up men in dark alleys, breaking their bones, and he didn't care. The light glinted off the red stone in his ring.

I looked up at Older Clark in horror. He didn't look away. "It's in me, Martha." He sighed. "I've done things I'm not proud of."

Clark was on the sixtieth floor of the Luthorcorp building in Metropolis. He had been hired to steal something from Lionel Luthor. He crushed the lock and ripped the hinges off a safe door. Then he pulled the door out and threw it across the room. He took what he'd been hired to get – a metal box – and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He turned around and met his father's eyes.

"Hello, Clark."

"Jonathan Kent. Isn't it a little past your bedtime?" Young Clark had a supercilious smile. "How'd you find me?"

Jonathan had his own tiny smile. "Your biological father."

"You two are working together, huh? That's cute. But I didn't listen to him and I'm certainly not going to listen to you." The red K singing through his veins fueled his disdain.

Jonathan grabbed his arm. "Clark. You need to put all this behind you, son. Come on home to the people who love you."

Clark smiled, nodded, and patted his father's shoulder. Then he pushed lightly, and Jonathan went flying across the room. Jonathan hit a wall and slid down. Clark figured he'd dealt with that annoyance. He addressed Jonathan's unmoving form. "You should have stayed in Smallville."

Jonathan got up slowly, apparently unhurt. "Son, you're coming home with me. Now."

Clark stared back at Jonathan, unable to understand how his father would dare defy him.

Jonathan rushed at Clark. I started in surprise – was Jonathan using super-speed? Young Clark and Jonathan, entangled, went through the window and plummeted sixty stories down. They fell through a generator housing and ended up in a basement construction zone.

They fought, trading super-powered blows, moving in super-speed. Jonathan held his own against his super-powered son. I felt young Clark's unease. Clark stepped back, breathing heavily. "Looks like the old man has been working out."

Jonathan said, "Jor-El and I have an understanding." His tone was sheer Jonathan Kent stubbornness. "I'm taking you home."

"I don't care what he's done to you. You're not taking me anywhere."

"Clark! You don't realize how dangerous you are when you're wearing that ring."

I felt Young Clark's desolation even through the red kryptonite euphoria. "It's not the ring. I was born that way. You just can't accept it."

He rushed Jonathan. His father fought him off and threw him into a scaffold, which collapsed on him, covering him with wood and steel framing members and bags of cement.

Clark pushed himself out from under the debris. He threw a pipe at Jonathan, who ducked to avoid it. Then he sped to Jonathan and grabbed him by the throat. He had his father pinned to the wall, halfway choked. Jonathan tried feebly to push Clark away.

Clark cocked his arm, ready to deliver a blow that would end this fight once and for all. But he made the mistake of looking in his father's eyes. Jonathan looked back at him defiantly. "Go on! If I could raise a son that could kill, then kill!"

The words hammered through Clark, cutting through the red K haze. Suddenly he knew the red kryptonite was a cheat. He didn't want its false euphoria anymore. He wanted the sweat of an honest day's work in the fields instead of the alcohol-fueled nightclub life. He wanted real friends, not people who cowered away from him. He wanted his home and his family. He wanted real love.

With a loud scream, Clark drove his fist into the girder next to Jonathan. The red kryptonite shattered. Clark felt the intoxication leave him. He fell to the ground, gasping. He caught a glimpse of his father, doing the same thing.

He got up and ran over to Jonathan. "Dad? Dad?" What if he'd hurt his father? What if he'd killed him? Please, not now.

I felt Young Clark's concern, and then his relief when he realized his father was all right. I stumbled back and Older Clark reached out to steady me. When he touched me, I almost collapsed at the anguish I got from him.

"Why…" I asked. "You didn't hurt him. He was all right."

"That's what I thought, then." Clark was short. I turned my eyes back to the parade of his memories.

"Jonathan," I murmured. I knew he was a good man. I saw what he had meant to Clark.

The scene shifted forward. It was three years later. Now it was late night, near the barn. Jonathan came staggering out of the barn, and almost fell into Clark's arms. I – no, it was the other Martha, my counterpart – stood next to Clark. Jonathan looked at me with love, and then collapsed. The other me screamed. I knew it was too late. I'd seen that boneless collapse before. Jonathan Kent was dead.

"He died of a heart attack," older Clark told me. "Having the Kryptonian powers used up his life force. He burned years in seconds." Older Clark was crying, just like the younger Clark in the memories was doing. "He came to save me, and I killed him…"

I hugged him in sympathy and without restraint. He stiffened in surprise and then held me tightly, accepting my sympathy. Anguish and self-loathing coursed through him, and infinite sorrow. How could Clark forgive himself for this? He never could.

But every day, he went on.

We waited a long time. Finally, Clark managed to push his grief back into the box where he kept it, the box he opened up every day. I had nothing to say. Clark had had a typical moment of teenage rebellion. It had turned into something much more serious. I knew Jonathan. I knew he would have felt responsible for his son. He would have gone after Clark no matter what. Taking on the Kryptonian powers had just been necessary, so he could literally beat some sense into Clark.

Somehow I knew that Jonathan knew there had been a price, and he had willingly paid it. I put my hand on Clark's arm, trying to convey that to him through our wordless link.

He met my eyes. "Every day…" he swallowed. "Every day, I think about him. If I hadn't done what I did…" Clark's voice took on a greater resolve. "Every day, I think about that. And I tell myself that today, I'm going to be the man that my father could be proud of. Be the man that he knew I could be."

Our link told me how strongly he meant these words. It told me how much he respected Jonathan, and how grateful he had been for Jonathan's guidance. He couldn't lie in this setting. I felt every ounce of his sincerity.

"Let's move on." He said it in a cracked voice. I nodded, wiping the tears from my own eyes.

We were back in Metropolis – the damaged, burned, depopulated Metropolis of this world – with the swiftness of thought. Clark had just been dumped here from his world. He stared at the broken skyscrapers in dismay. He saw someone he knew.

"Lois!"

It wasn't _his _Lois. It was the Lois Lane I knew, the one with the scar on her face and the hate for Kryptonians. "Who the hell are you?"

"Lois, what the heck happened here?" Clark gestured around at the devastation. "Why don't you know me? Where is everybody?"

Lois looked at him suspiciously.

He moved a little closer to her. "Why are you wearing a parka in April…" Then he felt it. Kryptonite.

Lois pulled a green rock from her pocket. "This rock only glows for three people on this world." She moved closer to him, and he felt himself weaken and collapse. "You've one of _them."_

The last thing Clark saw as he slipped into unconsciousness was the triumph on her face.

"We can skip through the next parts," now-Clark told me impassively. "I found out what was going on, what Zod and Brainiac had done. You were there for most of that."

I had been, but at that time my view had been distorted. I hated Clark then. He frightened me beyond words. And yet, he was an opportunity…

The scene switched to him in his prison cell, handcuffed with the kryptonite handcuffs. I shuddered when I saw those. Past-Clark was pleading with his captors. "Let me help! I promise to fight with you to take down Zod! Please!"

This time, I heard the sincerity in his words. This time, I felt his determination. I let the scene play out, Clark fighting his way through the army of collaborators at the portal entrance, and then dueling Zod and Brainiac. I felt his absolute resolve. Humans would be free. Past-Clark was stabbed and lost consciousness. His memories faded to blackness.

Now-Clark turned to me. "That's how I feel, Martha." He said nothing more. Our link let me know he was telling the truth. I felt what he felt.

I took a deep breath. I dreaded what I – what _we _were going to have to do next. But at the same time I felt a strange confidence. Clark was at my side, and he'd proven to me that he wasn't cut from the same cloth as the other Kryptonians. He wanted to save and protect our world. _Our _world – the world that belonged to humans, and one Kryptonian that felt and thought like a human. One who didn't see Earth as a planet to be subjugated, to be molded into a faux-Krypton. One who wanted Earth to just be herself, the marvelous, life-teeming, green-jungle, blue-sea planet that she originally was, in all her glory.

He'd proven it to me in a most intimate fashion. I'd seen his thoughts, felt his feelings, lived his life. I'd felt his cringing embarrassment when he realized I was there too, and then his calm resignation that this was the way it had to be.

And now it was my turn. Could I bare myself? Here, in the gray forest of my life, I wondered. Then I shrugged my shoulders. Clark had gone first – could I let him be braver than me? There was something liberating about not having a choice. Or rather, having a choice, but the other option being totally unthinkable. The song lyrics murmured in my memory: "Freedom's just another word for having nothing left to lose." Well, the only thing I had left to lose was my pride. And, really, hadn't I lost that long ago?

I walked over to Clark, who had courteously gone off a few paces and turned his back to me – whether to give me a minute to work up my courage, or to compose himself after sharing his most intimate memories – and said quietly, "Are you ready?"

He turned and I saw he'd been clenching his fists. Tears ran down his face. He defiantly wiped them away with a spandex-clad sleeve. "Yeah," he said thickly. He took a couple of deep shuddering breaths. "Are you?" he asked, more controlled now.

"Yes," I answered softly. He stood, bent in on himself, his height crunched down, unhappy. Suddenly, surprisingly, I thought about hugging him again. Seeing the other me in his memories….what if the Clark of this world _had _landed, and _had _come to Jonathan and me? Well, I didn't have to wonder anymore. I'd seen it. It was terrifying and exhilarating and shivery and exciting and fearful and astounding and….there was love. So much love between the members of the Kent family that it spilled out to Smallville, to Kansas, to the rest of the world.

Our Earth had nothing to fear from Clark. Not when he could love like that.

I contented myself with touching his arm. "We're half done," I murmured. "And I know exactly where Brainiac is, in my half."

That caught his interest. "Oh?"

"Yes." I wanted to say something else, like, _So straighten up and let's get moving, _or, _You'll back me up, right?, _or _Please don't tell anybody about this._ But everything I thought was insulting, so I confined myself to a gesture and a significant look.

Clark straightened up – it seemed to come naturally to him. He offered his arm. This time I took it. Surprise drifted over his features. He stood a little taller, walked a little more bravely. We headed into the deep dark woods.

As I'd told Clark, I wouldn't have to look hard. I knew exactly where Brainac was hiding. I set a course for him, remembering now what I'd tried so hard – and failed – to forget. Those not-so-long-ago days when the aliens had really landed…


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Notes: 1) I'd like to express my sincere appreciation to my beta readers, Artemis and Leela. Their hard work has improved this fic immensely. Thanks! **

**2) WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! This section contains violence, sexual assault, and other nasties. You have been warned.  
**

_From the previous chapter: _

As I'd told Clark, I wouldn't have to look hard. I knew exactly where Brainac was hiding. I set a course for him, remembering now what I'd tried so hard – and failed – to forget. I'd worked hard to suppress these memories. But they came back in nightmares - those not-so-long-ago days when the aliens had really landed…

_

* * *

_

I was in my posh Metropolis apartment, changing into sweats. Sitting in a boardroom all day had left me twitchy with unspent energy, and I needed to run. Besides, a good jog would help me deal with the not-quite-painful-but-still-quite-irritating cramps I had.

"You'd think that a woman my age would be over that by now," I grumbled to myself. Apparently my womb, repeatedly inoperative in terms of actually carrying a child, felt the need to remind me it was still there. I put my key-ring bracelet and threw my lucky Swiss army knife and a can of pepper spray into my pocket. I locked up, and headed out.

The sun lingered near the horizon, close to twilight, but not there yet. With luck, I could get a few miles done in Centennial Park before it got too dark. I bounced on the balls of my feet, did a few stretches, and set off.

A slow pace at first, then, after I'd worked off the initial lethargy and stiffness I'd gotten sitting all day in a boardroom, I settled into my usual long lope, breathing regularly. A few other joggers were out; we nodded to each other as we passed. I settled down, enjoying the early spring air.

Suddenly, my skin crawled. I felt a figure behind me. Where had he come from? I stumbled, missed a step, and then increased my speed slightly. Whoever this man was, he was definitely too close to me. I fingered my can of pepper spray.

The man, irritatingly, kept pace. I shot a glance at him from the corner of my eye. Not too tall, certainly not as tall as Jonathan. In good shape. Nondescript face. Tiny prickles of alarm skittered down my spine. This wasn't right. He was too close.

"Martha Kent," the man said, not even wheezing, "I'm here to take you."

Fear skittered down my spine. Whoever this man was, he knew my name. He must be some sort of stalker. And what did he mean, "Take me?" I didn't respond in words. Instead, I fumbled a bit, and then got the pepper spray pointed in the right direction. I gave him a good blast right in the face, and put on my best speed.

I felt a momentary twinge of satisfaction. That should settle him. I'd smelled the pepper spray once as a demonstration and never wanted to again. A whole can, right in the eyes and nose, should leave him gasping for breath, eyes tearing, hunched over at the side of the road. I kept my quick pace for another few minutes, then slowed down just a little and looked over my shoulder.

The man was right there.

I screamed. He smiled – how could you call a smile 'evil'? But his smile was.

"I told you, Martha Kent. I am here to take you." He put out his hand and latched it onto my arm. "You are delaying General Zod."

I shook my arm. There was no dislodging him. He stopped and pulled me to a stop as well. He wasn't even breathing hard. I could smell the pepper spray on his face and I sneezed. He didn't even have any tears. I pulled back, and stomped on his toes, kicked at his knees, his groin, shoved him with my body. Nothing worked. He stood there, absorbing my best blows, not flinching, keeping that tiny smile on his face. I bruised only myself.

"This grows tedious," he finally said. His other hand came around to the back of my neck. There was a sharp pain. "The general awaits."

Everything went black.

* * *

I awoke slowly. Where was I? I opened my eyes and gasped. Gone were the trees, the grass of Centennial Park. I had been moved to a place of snow and ice, of crystalline girders that rose hundreds of feet into the air. There was no green here, no growing things.

I lay on some sort of platform, made out of crystal a slightly different color than that of the strange girders. There was no bedding, and yet the platform did not feel as hard and unyielding as its composition might suggest. I sat up slowly, wide-eyed at my surroundings.

I stood in the middle of an open expanse of white, surrounded by the iridescent crystals. Nothing was around me; I heard a slight noise and turned to see my "bed" dissolving, becoming one with the floor. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away stood a collection of tubular crystals, mounted at a diagonal to the floor. Around the edges, shadowed nooks hid their contents, while the wind whistled past the open areas between girders. Despite the wind and snow – snow! Where was I that there was snow? – that I saw, I felt perfectly warm. No one was around.

"Hello? Hello?" I called loudly. No answer.

Well, then it was time for exploration. Who had brought me here? Where was here? Was I in some northern or polar latitude, given the snow? How had I gotten here? How long had I been unconscious? Why had I been kidnapped? Questions rushed through my head.

I set out in a confident walk toward the collection of tubular crystals. Were they some sort of decorator's attachment? Who on earth would design such an odd structure, and why build it here, in a snowy climate? A few more steps would see me there.

I ran into an invisible wall. "Ouch!" I'd slammed painfully into it. My knees and chest ached. I felt my tender nose. Was it bleeding? After an anxious few moments, I confirmed it wasn't. The adrenalin rush left me lightheaded and nauseous.

I moved forward cautiously. I could see nothing barring my way. But I could feel it. A barrier, invisible to my eye, stood between me and my goal. I felt around – it was solid, and higher than I could reach. I explored, my heart pumping wildly.

I was in a box. It was about twenty feet long by twenty feet wide. The floor was solid. The invisible walls were solid past my height and as high up as I could jump. There was nothing inside the box but me. The crystal console, the shadowed alcoves, the snow outside were all out of my reach.

Fear crawled down my spine. The questions I'd asked before came back tenfold. Who had kidnapped me? Where was I? How could they do these things?

"Hello," I called again. "Hello."

No answer. My voice echoed in the open space.

I explored my prison again, touching the walls from floor to as high as I could reach. Yep. A box. Four walls, right angles, impermeable (to me, at least) walls, no doors palpable, no windows discovered. Maybe it had a ceiling too. I twisted my lips when I thought of the mime I'd seen last fall in Centennial Park doing the "invisible box". It was a lot less funny when you were the prisoner, in a real invisible box.

I sat down with a sigh and considered my situation. I'd taken a survival training class once. The instructor had pointed out that you're never helpless as long as you can think and plan. "Just take a few minutes to think. It's STOP: Stop, Think, Organize, Plan."

So…my assets were myself, a middle-aged woman in fairly decent shape. I had no food or water. I was in comfortable clothes, my jogging sweatsuit, and I did have on some sensible running shoes that gave my feet good support. Useful if I had to run away. Although running away hadn't helped me before.

I shook my head and went on. I also had a bracelet with my apartment key, a probably-empty-and-seemingly-useless can of pepper spray, and a Swiss Army knife. I had my wedding and engagement rings. When Jonathan and I had divorced I had offered to return them. He had said, "No." And I had a necklace with a pendant of meteor rock. I had worn this with my business suit today and had forgotten to take it off when I went running.

That was it. No other items. Not even tampons, which I realized I was going to need, and soon. Plus, I had to go to the bathroom.

"Hello? Hello?" I called again.

No answer.

"Geez, I'm stuck in a place with no facilities," I grumbled. Then I shouted, "Hey, if anyone can hear me, I need to go to the bathroom!"

Motion at the corner of my eye attracted my attention. I gaped as a toilet rose from the solid floor. I hurried over to it. It appeared to be a normal toilet – bowl, seat, tank. I would think nothing of it if I had seen it in any home. But here? – and rising up out of the floor?

"I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore," I muttered self-consciously. _And I don't think I'm over the rainbow, either. _I looked around again. No one home. No one here but me. Out here in the open.

Oh, well. I really had to go. I used the toilet. Uh-oh.

"How about some toilet paper here? And tampons?" Hey, yelling to the empty air had worked before.

It worked again. The needed items materialized in front of me. I shuddered. This was beyond anything I'd ever heard. Was I in the future, or in some parallel dimension? Or was this some sort of fairy-tale castle, where my wishes were granted? And if so, who lived in the castle? The fairy princess, or the big bad ogre?

I demanded a sink and soap to wash my hands. They were supplied. I walked away after I was done, and saw everything sink back down into the floor. I came back to where the items had been. The floor's smooth surface defied my efforts to tell where, exactly, the plumbing fixtures had come from.

I whipped around when motion at the corner of my eye caught my attention. There stood my captor, the nondescript man with the evil smile. Trim, compact, whipcord muscles, blondish hair, he would fit in well in any crowd.

"Hello, Martha Kent," he said coolly.

"Who are you? Where am I? Why have you kidnapped me?" I burst out with questions.

The man smiled again. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "You may call me Milton Fine. You are in the northern polar regions of Earth, called the Yukon Territory of Canada. And your presence is required for the pleasure of General Zod."

"General Zod?"

Another man joined Milton Fine. He was much taller. The lights shone off his dark skin and bald head. He also was muscular, but in a much more bulgy way than Fine. He stood proudly, his posture and arrogant bearing proclaiming his dominance. He met my eyes and I gasped.

"The General," Fine said.

I could not look away from the man. He stared at me and I shuddered. A lawyer in the criminal defense branch of our firm had once defended a serial killer. I'd met the defendant once and had met his gaze. His soul was missing. And this General Zod had the same eyes.

I swallowed, unable to speak or move. The General broke his gaze to address Fine. "I will have her now."

I shuddered again.

The General advanced. I waited for him to hit the invisible wall. He walked right through it. I backed up as he advanced. He had a bored smile on his face. I retreated until I could go no farther, the wall at my back. The General's smile grew slightly larger at my inability to retreat. He came closer.

The stone in my pendant flared into a brilliant glow. The surprise broke my hypnotic fascination with the General's gaze, the gaze of a snake charming its prey into its gullet. I looked down at the green glow and missed the General stumbling. He fell to one knee.

I cheered silently at the disruption of his smooth and menacing advance. Why had he fallen? The floor was smooth. There were no obstructions. He stood, wavering slightly. He essayed another step toward me and swayed. The meteor rock stone glowed brightly.

Zod stepped back, no longer stumbling as he moved farther away from me. He gestured toward Fine. "Remove that."

Fine advanced. The rock glowed when he came near, too. I flattened myself against the wall, too frightened by the General's presence to move. Fine ripped the pendant off my neck, breaking its delicate chain. He gave me another cool smile as he walked through the invisible wall that held me prisoner, and out of my sight.

Zod had a satisfied smile. He advanced on me again, this time showing no signs of the weakness that had plagued him before. My eyes shifted back and forth, looking for a way out. There was none. I tried to hit him. He grabbed my arm and pulled it back painfully. He pushed me up against the invisible-but-all-too-real wall.

"I have waited for this," he breathed. He grabbed my sweatpants and ripped them off my body. The pieces fell to the ground. I brought my legs together. He brought my other arm above my head and held my wrists in one of his meaty hands. I squirmed but couldn't escape. With his other hand, he ripped my sweatshirt. The fibers curled as the rags dropped. My sports bra followed, ripped into shreds with little effort. He pressed his body into mine, his arousal touching my body. Oh, God - this was some sort of horrible nightmare.

He looped one finger in the waistband of my panties. With a quick jerk, the cotton joined the rags on the floor. He thrust one leg in between mine, spreading me, ignoring my screams and writhing struggles. His hand moved down to his own trousers.

"I'm in my period," I blurted out. Zod stopped abruptly. My eyes widened. I'd always thought that telling a rapist that was a waste of time. But it seemed to work with him, as he stared at my pubic patch in disgust.

His nostrils flared. "How primitive." He let go of my wrists and stepped back. I scrambled away from him, trying to cover myself with my hands.

"Brainiac!" the General called out.

Brainiac? What did that mean?

Milton Fine appeared. He took in the situation at a glance.

The General gestured in the general area below my waist. "Remedy this." Zod stalked away, passing through the invisible wall and going to stand by the crystalline console.

Fine gave his supercilious smile. He advanced on me in the same manner as the General had. My attempts at avoiding him were futile. He gestured, and the bed-platform arose from the floor again. With a swift move, he knocked me down. I lay on the bed, looking up at him. He loomed over me, one arm across my chest and abdomen, pressing me into the bed. I resolutely pulled my legs together.

He chuckled. "That won't do any good." Then – _oh God_ – his hand _melted. _ The fingers flowed together and the thumb disappeared as his arm terminated in a spear of shining silver metal. His other arm held me down, my struggles not deterring him in the least.

The metal spear went between my legs. I felt it invade my person, a fiery probe that burned in pain. The sheer horror of it stilled me, the ghastly parody of a gynecological exam. I stopped struggling, afraid that moving now would damage me.

His invasion made me aware of every part of my interior. I felt the fire travel up my womb, follow the delicate tubes, one side faster than the other, heading to the ovaries. He cupped each ovary simultaneously, and chuckled. He drew back his probe, concentrating his substance, filling my womb. I felt my walls stretch. He smiled. A soundless flash ripped through my vision, blinding me with a moment of light. I screamed as my uterus cramped horribly. My legs fell open. I met his eyes and he chuckled again.

I felt his probe advance once more, up to the ovaries and beyond. It spread through my entire abdomen. It tickled and probed my abdominal contents, disconcertingly making me sense my own viscera. It went past internal organs and through the body walls. His burning fire spread like quicksilver under my skin from neck to toes. There was another soundless flash. My skin heated up unbearably for just a second. I cried out at the pain.

Fine called his substance back and I felt it coalesce again in my uterus. There was another soundless flash and another shock of pain. "That should do it," Fine muttered. He pulled back from me, the silver metal not at all dulled by its intimate exploration of my body. The gleaming spear morphed back into a human-looking hand.

I shuddered. Whatever this _thing _was, he was definitely not human. I curled up on the bed, unable to speak, shaking. Dimly, I registered Fine speaking to Zod, the words unintelligible in the background. I could make no sense of what they said. I curled into a fetal position, overtaken by sheer horror.

A large hand suddenly tipped back my chin and, with shock, I saw that Zod had returned. I pulled away from him, frantic. I sprang up in a frenzy, screaming, kicking at him, hitting, striking every blow I could. None had an effect on him. My toes, even in shoes, bruised as I kicked him.

He smiled with ennui after a minute or so of my futile blows. Then he casually hit me across the face. My head snapped back and I stumbled, halfway to unconsciousness. He deftly caught my staggering body and fell with me to the bed, my body under his. His knee moved between my legs, inexorably spreading my limbs apart. I made a few more ineffectual blows before he caught my hands and easily pinned them above my head with one of his own. He fumbled with his clothing with his other hand, opening his trousers. He was ready.

He thrust forward, penetrating me. I was extremely dry from Brainiac's "treatments" and it hurt agonizingly. I screamed. Unfortunately, my struggles seemed only to enliven him. Was he going to kill me when he was done? I had read about such perversions. He grunted as his body slammed into mine. It took only a few minutes before he arched his back and pressed into me, shuddering at his release.

He pulled out and leaned back, releasing my hands. Defiantly, I kicked one last time, aiming for his groin. He reached forward and hit me again. As I spiraled down into blackness, I thought I heard him say to Fine, "Make her willing."


	31. Chapter 31

**WARNING! WARNING! This chapter contains disturbing images, violence, and mental, physical, and sexual assault. WARNING!**

* * *

I woke up bruised and sore. I lay still, my eyes staring dully at the crystalline girders, the light that came from everywhere and nowhere. No one else was in sight. I looked at my wrists – bruises like bracelets encircled them. It hurt when I breathed. I groaned as I slowly sat up.

I choked back tears. I _wouldn't_ think about it. I _wouldn't_. I slowly put a hand down between my legs. Zod's dried fluid remained on my thighs, along with livid bruises. I moved my hand over and hissed in surprise. My pubic hair was missing, my groin as smooth as it had been when I was a child. I remembered, unwillingly, how Fine had invaded me, and the pain I'd felt all over my skin. He had crisped my hair into ash, apparently, and my intimate parts were exposed for all to see.

I reached down and flinched at the pain. I moved over and saw blood on the bed. Somehow I knew it was blood from Zod's attack and not from my period. In fact, there were only a few drops. Whatever Fine had done, he had stopped my menstruation and somehow obliterated my tampon, leaving me open for Zod's rape.

I staggered off the bed, wincing at the pain. I watched as the bed platform melted into the floor again, the stains and fluids dissolving away. The floor was smooth and pristine, no evidence showing of what had happened to me.

With a croaking voice, I asked for a shower, and a portion of the floor obediently arose and shimmered silently into the form of my desire.

I unlaced my shoes and removed them, slowly peeling off my socks. I entered the shower and stood, naked and shaking. I turned on the water and let it fall on me. I stayed in the shower for a long time, the hot water coursing down over me. At some time during the long shower, the tears came. I sobbed helplessly, futilely, the tears mixing with the water. I finally stopped, empty.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. A towel appeared silently at my request. I dried off, slowly, stretching my bruised muscles gradually. I stopped toweling my hair suddenly. My torn sweatshirt and sweatpants had vanished. And so had my shoes and socks.

"Hey!" I shouted. "I need clothes. And I want my shoes back!" I waited. Would this strange prison respond?

It did. My shoes appeared from…wherever. Alongside them was a pile of white material. I shook it out. It seemed to be a long, flowing tunic-like dress with full sleeves. A floor-length vest in a slightly different shade of white was the second piece, obviously meant to be worn over the dress. I ran my hands over the vest – what material it was made of, I couldn't tell. It was smooth and shiny, but not silk. Definitely not cotton-polyester, I thought with a grimace.

I sighed. I missed my running clothes. This… slave uniform frightened me. I checked the area one last time. No, my clothes hadn't appeared. It was wear this or go naked. I gritted my teeth and put on the robes.

Thin cream-colored socks, higher than my knees, completed the ensemble. I ignored the ballet-like slipper-shoes provided, choosing instead to lace up my Nikes. Their firm solidity comforted me.

Two items were notably missing. "Panties? Bra?" I called out. Nothing happened. The requested items were not supplied. I shuddered as I thought of what this might mean.

The – room? – was quiet. I was the only one around. After I dressed, I checked the walls again. Still confined.

Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned to see Milton Fine approaching, that same tiny smile on his lips. "Martha," he said conversationally, "glad to see you doing well."

There were so many ways to reply to that. Outraged, I couldn't think of one.

"What, nothing to say?" Fine was definitely mocking me now.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of protesting. My mind raced to come up with something else. "Who are you?" was the best I could do.

"I told you. I'm called Milton Fine."

"That's what you're called. Who _are _you? Or _what _are you?" I was proud that my voice didn't tremble. "And who is Zod?"

Zod's name seemed to set off some programmed response in Fine. He stood up straighter. "General Zod is a great leader of Krypton."

"What's Krypton?"

"Another planet," Fine said, looking scornfully past me, to the outdoors. "One that far outshines this miserable ball of dirt."

I felt a momentary twinge of interest. It was like being in a courtroom, cross-examining a witness, and knowing I was onto something. "If Krypton is so great, why isn't Zod there?"

"Political enemies forced General Zod into exile. He has returned."

"Well, good for you, MacArthur," I muttered. "Since he's _returned, _why hasn't he _returned _to Krypton?"

"Krypton was destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

"Yes, it no longer exists. That is the general meaning of _destroyed_, Martha." He said that sarcastically.

Questions tumbled through my head. How? Why? I settled on what seemed most urgent. "What is Zod doing here?"

Fine smiled again. "Conquering your miserable planet."

"What?"

Fine gestured, and screens materialized in my cage. However this Kryptonian video worked, it was great. High definition and living color and full surround sound. Unfortunately, the programming was downright horrifying. "You may see the General."

I gasped as I saw Zod flying – _flying!_ – swooping up and down and all around. Then I saw his opponent. Or opponents. It looked like a very large number of the People's Republican Army of China, based on the red star on their caps. A large city was visible in the background, and almost every soldier had a "They shall not pass" expression on his face. The infantry fired at him, not only rifles, but machine guns and artillery. The explosions almost deafened me.

The brightness faded and I saw Zod smile contemptuously. Then his eyes turned red. The POV – how did the video do that, anyway? – shifted so that I was looking at the Chinese Army. Or, rather, where that regiment of the Chinese Army had been. I sucked in my breath as I saw the soldiers burst into flames, turn into human torches and then a pile of ash. Zod looked at the tanks with the glowing red eyes and the tanks and artillery pieces melted into a puddle of molten slag.

I couldn't breathe, staring in horror.

"Ah, so sorry," Fine mocked.

"What – what – " I couldn't get the words out.

"I thought it wouldn't be long," Fine said. He turned to me eagerly. "Watch this."

Somehow the video focused on a missile. "They've launched," Fine said eagerly.

My throat was dry. Nuclear weapons?

I traced the trajectory of the missile. It was headed for Zod. He stood still in mid-air, hovering a short distance above the ground, scorning to move. Knowing what was to come, I looked away. The missile exploded.

Even through the video screen, the intense light was like a lightning bolt in my cage. I slowly turned back to the video, and gasped as I saw Zod, hovering unharmed, above a denuded landscape. What had been a thriving, vibrant city – presumably in China – was now a Hiroshima-like necropolis as far as the eye could see.

"I never liked Shanghai anyway," Fine said casually.

I could not speak. I didn't know which appalled me more – the uncaring destruction of one of Earth's great cities and all its population, the casual flippancy, or the sheer power Zod had shown. In fact, the latter frightened me the most. If Zod could stand up to a nuclear blast, what chance had we? What chance at all?

"Nothing to say, Martha?" Fine asked me again, that maddening smile in his voice.

I swallowed hard. "How…"

"Kryptonians have special powers on your world, due to its yellow sun," Fine said conversationally.

"Special powers?" I croaked.

"The flying, the strength, the speed…..I particularly like the heat vision. It's so helpful in quelling the natives."

My stomach churned as I remembered the soldiers turned to ash, burned down where they stood.

"Why is Zod doing this?"

"He will be the ruler of Earth."

"Why?"

"Because he can!" Fine almost shouted. "He should have been the ruler of Krypton, but Jor-El trapped him and put him into the Phantom Zone. Now General Zod is returned, and he will make this Earth a new Krypton!"

"Rulers should be taking better care of their subjects," I said hotly. No matter that what Fine had said roiled through my mind – there were so many things I didn't understand. But I focused on what I knew. "He shouldn't be doing that."

"Defiance must be punished. Offenders must be put down." Fine's evil smile was back again. "For example, look now." He gestured toward the screen and the view changed. "You may recognize the area – I was in Lowell County this afternoon."

Deep foreboding crawled through me. I knew I wasn't going to like what I saw.

"I thought I might take a visit to the Kent Farm….you know it, Martha?" A rhetorical question. On the screen, I saw Fine drop from the sky onto our – what had been – our property. Now, of course, since the divorce, it was Jonathan's. He hadn't wanted to give up any of it, no matter what. In the end I'd given up trying to change him, and had moved to Metropolis when I left him.

I saw Jonathan working at the fence line, and choked back a sudden rush of feeling. We had fought, we couldn't live together, our marriage had crashed and burned, but somehow I still loved him. I would know his tall body and strong lines anywhere. His face was older and more lined, but I still knew it.

On the screen, Fine touched down, behind Jonathan, who still worked, unseeing, at the fence that separated our farm – his farm – from the county road. I wanted to scream for Jonathan to look up, to run away from the monster.

"Jonathan Kent?" the alien asked.

My ex-husband straightened and turned. "Yes?" he asked neutrally.

Fine smiled again, superciliously, and walked over to the fence line. Jonathan stared at him. I could see the sweat on Jonathan's brow. Unease churned in my gut. "Who are you?" Jonathan asked suspiciously.

The Kryptonian thing didn't answer. Instead, with a casual push, he knocked over two posts of the fence.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jonathan asked roughly. "I just got those in!"

"I know," Fine said. "It amuses me to knock them down." I shifted from foot to foot. He was provoking Jonathan for some reason, I knew it….

"Well, it amuses me to kick you off my farm!" I could see the color arising in Jonathan's fair skin. He got angry so easily….

Jonathan grabbed Fine and pulled him away from the fence line. He pulled the smaller man's arm up behind his back and frog-marched Fine away from the fence, toward the road. "Get out of here and don't come back." With a flourish, he cast Fine away. Despite Jonathan's giving him the bum's rush, Fine didn't stumble as he stepped out onto the blacktop of the road.

He turned back to Jonathan, who stood straight and tall, facing this interloper. My heart wrung with love for Jonathan. Even though we couldn't live together, even though we argued and fought, even though our marriage had ended in divorce, deep down I still cared for him. I still loved him. I knew every inch of his tall body, the fine blond hairs on his arms and chest, the numerous small scars that came from a lifetime of hard farm labor. I'd kissed every one of them. I knew his piercing blue eyes, his somber face.

Back in the Fortress, Fine giggled, distracting my attention from the view of my ex-husband. "I like this part."

The Milton Fine on the video screen stared at Jonathan. "You tell me to go away? No, I think you should leave."

And then – _Oh God! _– his eyes grew red. He bathed Jonathan in what I later recognized as heat vision. And Jonathan burned.

His clothes caught on fire. His skin blackened. His hair burst into flame. His eyes boiled and burst. He cried out in agony. But only for a few seconds. And then there was nothing but a charred corpse, muscles contracting it into a fetal position. It twitched a few moments and then grew still.

I screamed. My breath came in great whooping sobs. "Jonathan!"

The Fine in the Fortress giggled again. "Oh, keep on watching, Martha Kent."

Tears blurred my vision. But I saw the Fine on the screen continue to stare at Jonathan's corpse. It wisped into ash. Then Fine – eyes still red – looked at the fence. The posts went up in flames and the wire melted. The evil being turned around, and the pasture burned. He walked slowly over the farm, his eyes dealing death. Our small herd of pedigreed Angus were destroyed just as Jonathan had been. I could hear their agonized groans before they, too slipped down in death.

The oak tree where we'd carved our initials burst into flame, its crown, burning brightly. The fields, wet with the moisture of spring, flashed into steam before the vegetation burned off to reveal the topsoil beneath. The topsoil, baked into hardpan, as Fine continued his walk of destruction. The barns exploded into a flurry of sparks and roaring flame.

The Kryptonian stared at our house, the supercilious smile back on his lips. I could see him debating whether or not to enter. In the end, he shook his head. The red beams darted from his eyes. I could see the wavering of the air where he heated it.

Our home burst into flame. I heard sirens in the background. The Lowell County Fire Department had been called. The fire trucks pulled into our farm lane, the firemen jumping off and gesturing excitedly to Fine as the Kent homestead burned in the background.

"No!" I murmured, heartsick. The Fine in the Fortress just chuckled. The Fine on the video screen turned his weapons – his eyes! – onto the firemen and the fire trucks. Their flame-retardant garments delayed his conflagration only a short time. The fire trucks exploded, the tanker truck releasing its contents in a huge burst of steam.

Fine stood proudly on the Kent Farm, the house a wreck of ashes and charred beams behind him. Corpses wrapped in firemen's coats littered the ground in front of him, along with melted fire trucks. Behind him, the barn roof collapsed in a shower of sparks. Fine ascended into the air until he reached an altitude where he could see the entire Kent Farm. His eyes reddened again and he smiled.

Sobbing, I looked away before I could see the last vestige of my former life disappear.

The Fine in the Fortress chuckled. "I told you I liked this part."

I could not speak. I hated him. I'd never felt as much hate for anyone as I felt right now.

Fine made a parody of checking his wristwatch. "Well, not that it hasn't been interesting, but the General will be here soon, and he's given me an assignment…." He advanced on me, walking airily through those invisible walls that kept me confined. I cringed back. Would he burn me too? Once again, I found myself backed up against a wall, Fine reaching for me.

"What…what are you doing?" I managed to choke out. Nothing good, certainly. I felt it in a deep foreboding in my gut.

"Your master will be here soon."

"He's not _my_ master." Although he did appear to be Fine's.

The alien chuckled. "He will be." His arm reached out again, and once again turned into that unearthly molten silver. I dodged, but he caught me. He plunged the spear of his arm into the back of my neck.

The burning crawled down my spinal cord and I screamed. It crawled up my head, and I felt the burning inside my skull, worse pain than any migraine I'd ever had. I beat futilely at him. He ignored my flailings.

"Ah, let's see…" a tendril of the silver fire ran down from my skull to my arms. Without my volition, my arms slowly ceased their blows at Fine. I switched to kicking at him. Another tendril sprouted, branched off, and my legs became still. Horror ran through me as I realized that somehow Fine had taken control of my body. I strained for voluntary movement – I could move my eyes, I could swallow, I could breathe and talk – but that was it.

"That's a good girl, now, Martha," Fine said. "Let's try things out. March." And, puppet-like, I paced in measured steps across the floor of my cage, arms perfectly in time. And I was doing none of it. Fine had me on strings like a marionette. He kept pace with me, and I felt the silver fire in my head as I moved.

At first my movements were puppet-like, stilted, choppy. After a few minutes, Fine seemed to understand more of what he was doing, and my walk became more natural, more fluid. After he walked me, he lifted my arms, made them rotate in circles, wave, lift up and down. He made me rock on the balls of my feet, stretch my toes, drum my fingers on a crystalline surface. He put my body through a series of yoga stretches, ignoring the pain from my bruises and torn muscles as he made me reach for positions I had never come close to accomplishing in my classes.

And all the time I sat in my head, powerless. My body was under the control of another. I wanted to shudder. I could not. Instead I cursed him.

"You son-of-a-bitch! You depraved bastard!" And I went on from there with all the curses I'd learned from years of lawyering. Fine chuckled for a few minutes, then said, "I think that's enough from you, Martha." The silver fire crept to my face, paralyzed my vocal chords, enforced silence upon me. My last curse – that he die alone and friendless – cut off in a gurgle.

Meanwhile, he went on – the best words were _playing with _– my body. He accelerated it to a run, then stopped it suddenly. He took off the robes I'd dressed in, and gestured a mirror into being. He stared at it in the mirror, making my face take on various expressions – a simpering smile, a frown, startled surprise. The only thing they all had in common was my burning, furious eyes staring at myself and the oppressor who stood next to me, his arm melded into my neck.

He made my hands cradle my breasts. He forced me to reach down and investigate my private parts, exposing them to the mirror. The pubic smoothness made every fold easy to see. His – they were mine, really, but under his control – fingers handled my clitoris, rubbing hard against the nub. A smile appeared on his face, and a moment later the identical smile appeared on mine.

I had never felt less like smiling.

The silver fire curled around inside my head. "Think about Jonathan," Fine whispered.

I tried hard not to. But I couldn't _not_ think about him. I remembered back to the second day of our honeymoon, the day we'd spent entirely in bed. The wedding day had been tense, my father disliking Jonathan, hating that we'd had the reception in the barn of one of Jonathan's friends instead of at an exclusive club in Metropolis. And we were both nervous that first night.

But the second day….we woke up and smiled at each other. Then we explored each other's bodies….leisurely. I remembered my frisson of excitement as Jonathan held himself over me, the sunlight from the open blind making his blond chest hairs translucent….the taste of the kiss he'd given me….the smell of his body…the deep feeling with which he caressed me….and how we'd joined together in happy abandon until we'd fallen back, gasping.

A fiery silver tendril inserted itself into that memory. And suddenly it went from 3D to flatscreen, from color to black-and-white. Before I knew it, another tendril snaked its way into the memory of the next day of our honeymoon, sucking out the life, leaving only the pressed petals of the flower between the pages instead of the vibrant blossom.

I raged inside. Fine was stealing my memories. I exerted all my will and _pushed_ back at him. The silver avalanche stopped descending and I felt momentary surprise on Fine's part. Then I heard him say, "Tsk, Martha, this won't do at all." He did _something_ – and I hurt.

Agonizing pain, worse than anything I could ever imagine…it lasted an eternity. Or a few minutes. I screamed silently within my head. Somehow I managed to keep a thread of my determination despite the agony. Somehow I still managed to _push _back at Fine. My eyes were open and I saw him looking distracted, for once without that everlasting supercilious smile.

My ears still worked. I heard him say, "Perhaps the other." The pain stopped. I stopped _pushing _in the relief of that moment. Then I felt Fine extend his tendrils into more of my memories – God, what had I lost so far? – and I girded up my determination to fight back again.

He chuckled. He closed my eyes. He shut off my hearing. And, with me trapped in the dark silence, he made a small adjustment in my head.

Pleasure. Ecstasy. I floated in a warm bed of sheer bliss. I grasped for the thread of my determination but it slipped away, just past my grasp. After a second, I didn't care. I luxuriated in nirvana. The pleasure was the best ever, lasting a hundred years. Somehow, in my trance, I felt the silver tendrils invading my memories, fingering each one, examining each thoroughly. I made no objection, didn't fight, as I basked in the sweetness.

And I didn't care – oh, the ecstasy! – as Fine vitiated some of my memories. He took the juice – the recollections of a wonderful concert, and the taste of chocolate, and good sex with Jonathan, and a cool drink on a hot day, and the sweaty feeling after a good workout, and the sting of hot salsa on the tongue, and the awe of watching fireworks burst. He took the remembrances of love and happiness. He sucked the life out of all my good memories.

He left all the memories of arguing and pain and suffering and regret. _Those_ stayed 3D and in full living color.

After some long time the pleasure stopped. I whimpered. I found myself lying on the bed, naked. Fine stood some distance away, his arm no longer the silver probe into my body. The harsh lights of the crystalline girders hurt my eyes. The wind whistling outside seemed louder than normal. I could see and hear again. I tried moving, experimentally. My body responded to my command again. I had a headache. I remembered who I was, and how I'd come here, and what had happened to me over the past few days. It hurt to try to remember further back than that.

My robes were on the bed next to me. I stood up gingerly and dressed. Fine watched me, the smile back on his face, saying nothing.

"What did you do to me?" I asked Fine warily.

"I prepared you for the master."

"The master of what?"

"The master of this mud ball you call Earth, and of you."

That sounded ominous. "Why?"

"Because the person who put him in the Phantom Zone, a truly horrible place," Fine almost shivered at the memory, "was Jor-El. The General vowed his revenge upon Jor-El. He swore that Jor-El, and everything of Jor-El, would be ground down into the dirt and destroyed."

"Who's Jor-El?"

"The biological father of your son Clark."

"I don't have a son named Clark. I don't have any children."

"Not in this world, anyway," Fine said enigmatically. "And you certainly won't after today."

Evidently, that was the end of his forthrightness, and he didn't explain any more. Fine gestured toward the video screen. Zod and his companion – a woman with dark hair – were floating above a city. It looked like somewhere in Brazil based on the natives and the shantytowns. Their eyes flashed red and the hovels in the shantytown burned or steamed or exploded. People in the path turned to ash. "I expect him shortly."

I turned away, heartsick. Then I straightened my shoulders and turned back. I didn't want to watch it, but I must. Someone had to bear witness. Someone had to take note of all those people dying, and know that they didn't die unwatched, uncared-about. I stared, dry-eyed, at the screen, as thousands died from Zod's attack.

I swallowed. I would fight back. So far, I had been frightened, timid. And the more I saw of these aliens, the more I knew fighting was futile. But I resolved to go down fighting. I wasn't going to just give in.

A whoosh, and the voice I had come to detest spoke out. "Brainiac!"

Fine stood to attention. "My lord."

What was this "Brainiac" business? I wondered.

A black-clad figure strode towards us. Zod, of course. Who else would stride into an alien fortress with such an air of ownership? His eyes passed over me, dismissing me as unimportant.

"How do we stand?" Zod queried his minion.

Fine pasted his smile back on his face – he had gone serious at Zod's approach. "General, today most of the continent called South America has bowed to your rule."

"Excellent. But the more I see of this planet, the more vermin I find. Tomorrow we will deal with that." Zod had a dry business-as-usual tone. He glanced at me, then back at Fine. "Is she ready?"

"Yes, my lord," Fine said submissively.

"Very well. Leave us." Fine bowed and walked away, disappearing from my view. I glanced away from his retreating figure only to catch Zod's eyes. I swallowed and almost cringed back before I remembered my resolve. If he was going to – if he did it again, I would not kneel before him. I would make him use force. I would go down fighting.

He advanced on me slowly. His slow smile gave evidence to the fact that he enjoyed the flicker of fear in my eyes. I said nothing, but remained standing straight. He stood a few feet away from me.

"Remove your clothing," Zod said.

I would not. He would have to tear it off me. But Fine had done something to me.

A glass wall slammed down inside my head. On one side was me – the Martha that lived, that fought, that cared and struggled. On the other side was the simpering automaton who now controlled my body. With horror, I heard myself say, "Yes, my lord." And with greater horror, I felt my arms move, without my consent, divesting myself of my coverings. I stepped out of the vest and opened the robe, letting it slide down to the floor.

I stood naked before a fully clothed Zod. He smiled. He reached out and roughly handled my breasts. Inside, behind my wall, I cried out from the pain. But my traitorous body made no sound. And, scaring me more, the pain was mixed with pleasure. I felt a dull aching in the pit of my stomach.

"Kneel before Zod," the general ordered. His smile was greater now. I hated the way these aliens smiled. Their smiles were grinning rictuses that meant nothing good for any Terran.

Despite my resolve, despite my frantic efforts, my body did not respond to my command. It responded to his. It knelt in front of him. Zod fumbled with the front of his trousers, exposing himself. He was aroused.

"Perform," he commanded. It was obvious what he wanted. I felt a traitorous slow arousal myself – I was growing wet. Zod's nostrils flared and he looked even more satisfied.

At his gesture, the puppet master who controlled my motions made my head lean forward. I took him in my mouth. Memories of the times I'd spent with Jonathan came to mind. But those memories were curiously lifeless, as if they'd happened to someone else. This, right here, right now, was all that seemed real.

Zod jerked, and without my conscious volition, my mouth began to perform what he wanted. I wanted to bite down hard, but instead, my tongue licked his slit and trailed up his shaft. My hands reached up to rub his scrotum. I encircled him. He sighed, and grabbed me by the hair, moving my head back and forth.

Despite my disgust, the "me" that stood helpless behind the wall could not change my body's actions. And the "me" that remained powerless felt everything, felt the thick organ in her mouth, tasted its musky odor. My body was not under my control. I felt it becoming excited, my nether lips becoming wet, my female parts having that curious cramping of desire. And the "me" that was in prison shuddered. Fine had invaded my brain, had changed me, had made my body want Zod. I tried to divorce myself from the body's feelings. But I could not. No matter that I hated and feared Zod – as I sucked him, all my body could feel was a steadily increasing lust.

He trembled, and climaxed. Great spurts jetted into my mouth. I wanted to spit it out and rinse with mouthwash. Better yet, Clorox. But instead, my traitorous throat swallowed most of it, leaving the dregs to trickle down the sides of my mouth. Zod let go of my hair and stood, breathing heavily, as I knelt before him.

After a moment, he stepped back. "Rise," he addressed me.

"Yes, my lord." That phrase seemed built in. My body stood. Zod pointed to the bed. "Lie there. Open your legs."

"Yes, my lord." Mechanically I stepped to the bed and lay down, legs spread. Zod had still not removed his clothing. His coverings obscured much – but they did not conceal the fact that he was hard again.

He loomed over me. He ran a finger over my clitoris. I tossed, thrashing about in pure feeling. A rush of moisture coated his finger when he separated my outer folds, and then teased me again. I moaned. Sexual excitement made it hard to think, hard to remember my hate. Zod chuckled and ran his thumb over me again while his fingers invaded me. I writhed as he stretched me. Little crackles of pleasure went straight up my spine to my head. I panted, wanting him to rub more….I was close….

He took away his hand and I whimpered. He smiled broadly. Then he lowered himself onto me, finding my entrance and driving in steadily. I shuddered in pleasure. He grasped my wrists in his large hand and drew them above my head, pinning me to the bed. He pumped, slowly at first, then increasing his speed.

It felt so damned good. I knew I should hate him, should be fighting, but I could not fight the relentless tide of pleasure that swirled over me. I found myself lifting my pelvis as he thrust, changing my angle. I wanted…I needed….I could not…..my whimpers changed to sobs as I reached for my climax and it was out of reach.

Zod began pounding in me faster and harder. Then he arched his back and his buttocks clenched. I felt him pulse within me. I almost cried in frustration – he was done but I was still wanting….needing….

After a moment, he stopped his thrusting. He remained within me. He looked up at the crystal structure surrounding us.

"Jor-El!" he cried. "Jor-El! I have taken your Fortress! I have taken your world! And I have taken your woman!" He looked back down at me. He let go of my wrists, and with that hand, reached down to rub me again. I arched up in wanting. He smiled knowingly, evilly, and gave me one last rub. "Come," he told me.

I shuddered as great rolling waves crashed over me, the pleasure so intense it was almost pain. Before I lost consciousness I heard Zod shout triumphantly, "I have taken your woman, Jor-El! And I own your woman, body and soul!"


	32. Chapter 32

**WARNING! WARNING! This chapter contains assault, violence, and disturbing images. **

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_(From the previous chapter: Martha was captured by Brainiac and is still being held prisoner in the Fortress. This chapter starts with a flashback.) _

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And that was the way it was. I stayed, a physical prisoner in the Fortress, and a mental prisoner when Zod was around. He came by at irregular intervals and raped me. Or could you call it rape when my body craved it, when he brought me to shivering ecstasy?

Yes, I decided, you could. For I had not and still did not consent willingly to my body's invasion. Brainiac had perverted my responses, somehow taken them and twisted them, forcing me to have sexual pleasure at Zod's command – but inside, I raged and wept. I stood behind my glass wall and beat against it futilely as Zod penetrated me and my body cried out in pleasurable bliss.

Zod was no great shakes as a lover, either. Had Brainiac not forced me, had I met Zod somewhere and invited him to my bed for a night (if such a thing could have happened after I met Jonathan), I would not have invited him back. He had no idea of foreplay, no conception of trying to pleasure his partner. And he never took off his clothing.

He spoke to me only to give me commands – commands to which I – the puppet "me" - immediately replied, "Yes, my lord," and complied. No matter how disgusting, I obeyed. The me behind the wall raged more.

He was never satisfied with just once. He forced me at least three or four times at each encounter, sometimes more. He was frighteningly fast to recover and it reminded me each time that, although he looked human, he was not. After a session with Zod, my muscles ached and I was sore all over. Often there were bruises. Perhaps the artificial lust ordained by Brainiac helped here – I was always wet when he entered me. Had his rapes been a repeat of his original assault – back before my "adjustment", as Brainiac coolly referred to his doings – I would have been injured much more severely.

The cruelest irony was that I could not climax without Zod's permission. I would clamber to the peak, and stay there, wanting, needing, so close, and yet never attaining. Brainiac had made my body want Zod, and even behind my glass wall, I felt the wanting. Zod knew it. One day he took me five times and never let me come. After he left, and I could speak freely again, I cursed him for my throbbing want that nothing but his permission would relieve. Self-touch only made the wanting worse, and it would be hours before the "congestion" went down. Adding insult to injury, Brainiac had somehow made my erogenous zones larger and more sensitive, so that an innocent touch of my breast would sometimes throw me into a frenzy, leaving me wet and trembling.

After a while, though, I began to hope that Zod would not allow me to come, that I would remain frustrated – because then I could think clearly. When he allowed me to climax, I would arch up, shuddering deeply, the pleasure almost akin to pain. Often I would lose consciousness. When I awoke, I would float in a sea of bliss, unthinking, uncaring. And, as Zod took me again and again, the post-orgasmic afterlude became longer and longer. The light never changed in the Fortress, and it was difficult to determine the time. I had no idea of the date, or whether it was day or night. But some internal clock kept me aware that time was passing. I would come back to myself, slowly fighting my way up from the nirvana quicksand, and realize that hours had been lost as I lay there, dazed.

And as Zod took me again and again, my body began to crave the bliss. Now, even the sight of him aroused me – he no longer needed to order me to become ready. And I would do anything – _anything_ – during sexual congress if it would make him tell me to come. During those times, the "me" that raged and fought behind the wall – that "me" was beginning to merge with the "me" that was the puppet that ran my body, the "me" that wanted nothing else but to obey Zod, and feel the ecstasy again.

And that frightened me more than anything. So, after a while, I was grateful when Zod, no doubt thinking he hurt me, would not allow me to come. That way I remained myself – although an irritable self - and when Zod departed, the wall came down and I controlled my own body again.

Brainiac also visited. Never when Zod was there, but he came around quite frequently after Zod had finished with me. He always waited until I was done taking my long hot shower, though.

He didn't visit the first few times after Zod assaulted me. After the first few times, the horror grew…not less, but more familiar. I knew what was going to happen, I knew I would hate it and feel the bliss of it at the same time, and I knew I had no choice but to endure it. And so afterwards I would sit in my cage, staring at the crystalline walls, thinking of nothing in particular.

Brainiac entered my cage after the Zod's fourth visit. "Martha, you look depressed," he said with that supercilious smile.

"I'm all right." I wasn't. I hadn't bothered taking my shower after Zod's rapes this time. And Zod had ripped my clothing, and I hadn't asked the Fortress to replace it. I sat there, reeking of sex and blood, staring at nothing.

"Want to tell me about it?" He would like that. He was probably expecting that I'd rage futilely at him for what he'd done to me. Brainiac was the last person I wanted to talk to.

Except, here in this captivity, where time passed but there were no clues of it, where I was slave to the whims of another, my mind was beginning to wander. If I could only talk to another human, someone who understood what was happening….Or maybe I just needed to talk to anyone. Even a sadistic alien conqueror. Frightening but true.

"No."

"You don't look happy." He smirked. "I thought I had arranged things so that you would be happy."

Bitter words tumbled through my mind. I took refuge in silence.

"Oh well, then." His voice was mild. He produced a chessboard out of nowhere. "Want to play chess?"

I goggled at him incredulously. "No."

He frowned. His arm lifted and the fingers became that silvery spear again. "I could make you want to."

I shuddered, staring at that alien being. The last time he'd made me want to do something… the threat was clear. "I'll play."

"Very good, Martha! I thought you would see reason." He set up the board. "You go first."

I shoved a random pawn forward.

Brainiac studied the board. "Ah, the Ruy Lopez! " Was it? I had no clue. I had only the most basic knowledge of chess. He continued. "Perhaps you were not aware of Lord Zod's actions today." He moved a pawn out to face mine.

I was certainly aware of Zod's actions today in the Fortress; I had the bruises to prove it. "No." I moved out another pawn.

Brainiac gestured, and the video screens came to life again. I barely saw him move his knight as I focused on the picture. Zod and his Kryptonian companion – Aethyr, I had heard Zod mention her name once - stood outdoors, the Houses of Parliament in London in the background. Long ranks of humans knelt in submission to the alien invaders. None dared look up and meet their gaze. The Queen, dressed in full regalia, knelt before Zod, her aged face a stone mask.

"Your move," Brainiac said. I randomly advanced a knight - they moved two up and one over, right?

Zod leaned down and took the crown off the Queen's head. He ran a hand over its ornate arches and spires. He carefully placed it on his own head. It should have looked silly, but his sheer menace forestalled all laughter. A nervous lackey brought up another crown. Did the Queen have a spare crown, I wondered? It certainly looked like it. Aethyr crowned herself. The crowd sighed, a rustle going through the large group. Zod smiled. I saw only a tiny wavering in the air when he turned his heat vision on the Queen and reduced her to ashes.

The crowd in London echoed my scream. Some foolhardy men rose and began to run at Zod and Aethyr, firing handguns as they attacked. Zod shook his head contemptuously. I saw sparks as the bullets ricocheted off the Kryptonians. Zod flickered, and the assailants exploded in a shower of blood. By this time, the crowd had turned into a frightened and angry mob, with the braver members fighting the Kryptonians and the larger part running to escape. It made no difference as Zod and Aethyr levitated, gaining altitude for better aim. In a few seconds, only ashes remained.

Brainiac moved his bishop one square. "Checkmate."

* * *

The nightmare went on. Brainiac came by almost every day to play chess and taunt me with sly comments. Above, the video screens daily showed me some new horror. Zod seemed to like incinerating people, while Aethyr had more of tendency to dismember. After a time, the humans within range threw themselves down on the ground, pleading for mercy, whenever a Kryptonian came in sight.

I never won a chess game. After the first game, I had demanded that Brainiac handicap himself. At first he took away his queen, then his rooks, then his knights and bishops. Even when we played with me having a full complement of chessmen and he only with pawns and a king, he defeated me.

He did make idle conversation during our meetings, though. Piecing together his comments, I found out that Zod called him "Brainiac" because that was an abbreviation for what he was: the Brain Interactive Construct, a Kryptonian artificial intelligence that had all the Kryptonian powers plus some others. I learned, too, that Zod had fallen afoul of the political hierarchy on Krypton – obviously, they feared his sociopathic ways too – and they had exiled him to the Phantom Zone.

What was the Phantom Zone? Brainiac's explanation confused me. As best I could understand, it was some sort of alternate dimension jail, a Kryptonian incarceration facility for the worst baddies around. It had been created, or found, I wasn't sure which, by a Kryptonian called Jor-El. This Jor-El seemed to be one of Zod's greatest enemies, based on Zod's ranting and Brainiac's comments. Brainiac's machinations had somehow sprung Zod from the Phantom Zone, a supremely unlucky moment for Earth.

Zod's body had been destroyed when he was exiled, and so Zod had taken over the body ("as a vessel", Brainiac explained) of one of the minions Zod had sent to prepare his way on Earth. I wondered if Nam-Ek (that was the name of the Kryptonian who was sacrificed so that Zod could have his body) had been asked if he wanted to give his body to the General. Somehow I doubted it.

As Brainac told me this, I watched as cities grew silent, corpses piled into the streets, people dying so fast that the living could not hope to be able to bury the dead. Brainiac had arranged some sort of plague, "to thin your numbers" he said cheerfully, and it was lethally effective. More than once I saw a healthy human in the morning drop dead by afternoon.

I hoped I would get the disease, too, and depart this world. But Brainiac, still cheerfully, informed me that I had been immunized, so that I might continue to serve at Zod's command.

I saw the fabric of our civilization tear, the carefully constructed web of commerce and culture rip apart. Under the onset of the murderous Kryptonians, their depredations, and the plague, the web unraveled. Before long, the video screen showed only the detritus of human existence – empty houses and storefronts, cars with moldering corpses at the wheel, jamming the roads, broken bridges, rats everywhere. Before long, the skies were always gray, and I saw snow everywhere, even in places where it didn't belong. They had done something to the climate, Brainiac explained once again with that nauseating cheerfulness, to make the Earth more like Krypton. To my dismay, I found that Krypton had been an ice planet.

I asked Brainiac why and how the Kryptonians differed from us. Brainiac cheerfully showed me the Kryptonian powers – the speed, the strength, the laser vision, the hearing, the ability to fly. They got their powers from our yellow sun. Krypton's sun had been red, and they lacked these amazing abilities on their home planet. They had no vulnerabilities here on Earth, he told me.

Somehow, Brainiac's jabs kept me from falling into a suicidal depression. Somehow, every time I spent with him ended with me wanting to fight back. I was a prisoner now….but if I ever got out, I would devote my life to revenge.

* * *

I stepped away from my memories. Brainiac sat at the chess table, frozen in time. I looked at Clark. His fists clenched. I saw red in his eyes – the heat vision, barely restrained. The anger came off him in great waves, jagged and prickly, intense and painful. He ground his teeth.

I stepped over to him and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Clark."

He inhaled, a deep shuddering breath, and turned to me. He couldn't meet my eyes. I looked down, too. He knew my shame.

Roughly, he said, "I want to kill them for what they did to you."

Silence, then I spoke. "You already did."

"Lex got Zod," he growled. "And Brainiac's not dead yet." But his tension eased. I felt the waves of anger subsiding, guilt taking their place. He managed to catch my eye, and I was transfixed by his sincerity. "I'm sorry. I know an apology means nothing after this. But I am sorry. Martha, you were an innocent bystander. Brainiac went after you because you were…"

"Your mother's counterpart?"

Clark only nodded. He looked away. "Knowing me is dangerous." I could say nothing to that. Its truth was self-evident.

After a moment of awkward silence, I said, "You know, even though you've been here for a year, I didn't put it all together till now. I finally figured out why Zod was after me."

Clark looked surprised. "I thought…" he cut himself off. I had no trouble following him. _I thought you would have figured it out when I came to this world and told you that you were my mother in an alternate universe._

"I tried very hard to not think about this time in my life. And Brainiac took most of those memories from me, until Jor-El restored them."

The guilt radiated off Clark again. "I can understand that." After a minute, he went on. "How did you get out?"

I thought back to those days. "Aethyr, you know, the woman Kryptonian? She took me out of the Fortress and dumped me back at Centennial Park," I started. "I think, though, that Brainiac had something to do with it. I really think Brainiac was the underlying puppet master that pulled all of our strings. Even Zod's. He acted like he was Zod's servant – and I think he was programmed to be Zod's servant – but underneath it all, he manipulated everybody."

"How so?" Clark asked, distracted from his anger.

"I saw Brainiac talking a few times with Aethyr. I think he convinced her that Zod actually had an attraction to me and that her position was endangered." I laughed shortly. "Nothing could be further from the truth. Actually, I think Zod was getting a little tired of me. He liked to dominate, you know. And since I was incapable of putting up a fight after Brainiac, um, _adjusted _me….Well, the initial rush of showing how he'd defeated Jor-El wore off after awhile. It wasn't as fun for him when he couldn't beat me for disobeying him, or overcome my struggles and rape me by force."

Clark's eyes darkened. He unclenched his fists again, slowly. "So why didn't Aethyr just kill you?"

"I think Brainiac arranged that too. From bits I overheard, I think he convinced Aethyr that she couldn't kill me, that Zod had told him to prevent anyone killing me. For all I know, that could be the truth." I took a deep breath. "I think what Brainiac really liked was to rub things in. He liked taunting me. He let me go, knowing that I hated him and Zod and everything else Kryptonian. He knew I wanted revenge. He probably thought it was funny to let me go and see what I would do. I was an experiment or something, because there was no way I could fight back."

"He's the kind of person…thing… well, the kind that would pull wings off flies for fun."

"Exactly. I think he did something to the Fortress, something like what he did to me, because in that Fortress, Jor-El never spoke. I had no idea there was supposed to be a Jor-El AI. So all the time Zod was ranting, I had no idea that Jor-El could actually hear him. Unless he killed Jor-El, but I don't think he would. He wanted Jor-El to see everything that he did."

Clark looked sick. "My mother's counterpart… the AI of my biological father…"

"Zod vowed revenge on Jor-El and Brainiac helped him get it." I smiled ferally. "But we're the ones standing here now. Think about that, Clark."

Clark nodded. "We are." After a minute, he asked, "What happened next?"

"I was dropped off in Centennial Park with everything I'd had when I was kidnapped." I remembered my astonishment at seeing my torn clothing (mysteriously regenerated), my apartment key, my Swiss Army knife, my empty pepper spray canister. "Let's just say that the Metropolis I left was a very different Metropolis than the one I came back to."

I saw Clark's eyes flash. He obviously remembered the desolation, the cold and ice, the burned buildings.

"I managed to contact the Resistance. " I wouldn't say how. I had promised never to tell anyone about the internal workings of the Resistance, and even now, even though Clark had probably seen it in my memories, I would keep that promise. "They took me in to Metropolis base. They debriefed me exhaustively. That's how we deduced that meteor rock was a Kryptonian weakness."

"Ah, the necklace," Clark said.

"You picked up on that? Yeah, I remembered how Zod got weak around my necklace, and how the meteor rock glowed when he came near. Also, when they put me back, I had all the other possessions I'd started out with, but they didn't give that back."

"Uh-huh."

"In the course of all this, I met up with Lois and the others, and we started discussing tactics and strategy. We got some good plans going, and more than once we had Zod and Aethyr in a bad spot. Brainiac, though, he always threw a wrench in the gears."

"Chloe did say they'd almost won, in a raid once. But she said she got killed during it."

"It didn't take, for her. We were getting pretty depressed about our chances. It looked like humans would go extinct."

Clark looked down awkwardly.

"And then you came. You were the wild card that Brainiac hadn't counted on. The one thing that gave us a chance. A fluke." _A miracle._

"And Kara."

"And Kara," I added, although inside I still wondered what would have happened if the girl had lived. Would Earth have had another Kryptonian overlord? I knew now that Clark never would do such a thing, but I had no idea of Kara. In the short time that I had known her, she had seemed as arrogant as Zod. It was probably for the best that she'd died in the coup. One Kryptonian was enough. We were lucky in the one we had.

"So, anyway," I said, getting away from the topic of Kara, "I stayed underground for over two years. I learned some martial arts from Lois and other people. I plotted grand strategies for Zod's overthrow. And in the end, we succeeded."

I didn't tell Clark about the scars. I didn't want to tell him. Ever since my captivity in the Fortress, three things had held true: I had no body hair below the neck. I never menstruated. And I was incapable of feeling sexual desire. I hoped Clark couldn't read my thoughts this time. Brainiac had crippled me, made me into a neutered freak. For that, I hated him even more, if that were possible.

"Martha," Clark said quietly, "I let you down. If I'd been here to protect you….I avoided my responsibilities and you got hurt." He sighed. "And the whole Earth too." Resolution mixed with the guilt. Somehow I was picking up on his emotions, very clearly. "I won't let you down again."

"OK," I said quietly. He meant it.

He turned away from me and began pacing, agitated. "I can understand now – when Lex sent us on that mission together it must have been your worst nightmare."

I thought back to those days – the frightened Martha, the Martha ready to lash out. The Martha that Clark had slowly reassured. "Yes."

"To have me touch you, to go off alone with me, and worst of all, seeing me use my powers – " He stopped pacing and looked at me directly. "Seeing this Fortress rebuilt and actually entering it again… I don't know if I could have been as brave as you."

"You made it easy." At his face tightened, I amended, "Well, _easier_. You took the time to reassure me. You tried not to scare me. You kept your promises." I blinked back tears. "Yes, you are Kryptonian. But all this – " I gestured at our virtual surroundings – "all this, it's let me know what kind of a man you are. You're a good man, Clark Kent." I said his Earth name deliberately, with focus, hoping he could feel the sincerity.

Astonishment came through our emotional bond. It crested into a wave of happiness, and subsided into a deep content. Clark swallowed. "Thank you."

I took his hand in mine. His emotions came through even more strongly. Underneath everything was a quiet courage, a steadfastness, a determination to protect. I hoped he felt my relief at learning, understanding, _knowing, _finally, that we of Earth had nothing to fear from Clark Kent, from Kal-El, the Kryptonian born on one planet and raised on another. I knew now, the man he was, down deep. I only hoped I could make it clear to everyone else.

The moment passed. I dropped his hand. As one, we turned to look at Brainiac, frozen in my memory. I wasn't alone anymore. We would find him and defeat him. Together, we would do it. "Are you ready?" Clark asked me softly.

"It's time."

Clark straightened his shoulders and strode into the tableau. I thought about saying something like, "Brainiac, come forth!" But I didn't need to. Clark grabbed the humaniform computer by the arm and dragged him out to where I stood.

"Ah, Martha, how nice to see you again," Brainiac said sarcastically. "And how are you today?" He stood calmly in Clark's grasp, not moving.

"Ready to kill you." I was proud that my voice didn't waver.

Brainiac looked at Clark. "What happened to the vow never to kill?"

I saw a tendril of discomfort cross Clark's face. My fear arose that if Brainiac worked his wiles….if he made Clark unsure… all was lost. The one thing I was sure of was that defeating Brainiac would take everything we had.

"That doesn't apply to you. You're not a person. You're a perverted idea," I snapped. "You're not real." To my relief, Clark's expression cleared.

"Well, in that case," Brainiac said smoothly, "since I'm not real, it won't hurt when I do _this_." He head-butted Clark. Clark's head snapped back and I heard his teeth click. He almost let go of Brainiac, especially when the robot began a flurry of moves and strikes at Clark.

Their contest degenerated into a bizarre and vicious parody of a wrestling match, the two rolling on the ground. Strangely enough, I could follow the action. Either they weren't going into super-speed, or I could see things happening at that speed. All throughout the match, Clark kept tight hold of Brainiac.

I stood back, confused. What could I do? I was only human. And weak. I couldn't fight physically, like Clark. Was Clark getting tired? The robot, although apparently smaller-sized than Clark, seemed to have a wiry strength that was capable of combating Clark's superhuman efforts.

Brainiac had him by the throat. He squeezed Clark hard. The rolling had stopped – the AI now had Clark pinned to the ground and was choking him. I could feel Clark's determination being replaced by panic. I had to do something. Anything. I had to help.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my trusty Swiss Army knife. Somehow I had no surprise that it waited for me, here in this strange virtual world. I snapped it open and rushed to the writhing combatants.

I stabbed down with all my might into Brainiac's back. He rolled a bit just as I did so, and my lunge for his center became a stab into his left shoulder. To my surprise, the tiny jackknife, instead of stopping on bone or muscle, carved through with no resistance. Brainiac screamed as I put more force into my blow. His left arm, the hand still clutching at Clark's throat, fell off his body. There was no blood. The hand loosened and Clark, released from the choking grasp, inhaled a long breath.

The arm fell to the floor, and in a horrifying moment, tried to skitter away, the fingers pulling it along. "Clark!" I screamed. I pinned it to the ground with my knife. The arm bent at the elbow, the fingers trying to reach me and the knife.

At my scream, Clark looked up and took in the situation with a glance. "Stand back!" he yelled.

I leapt back, leaving my knife in place. Clark's eyes grew red. A wavy haze in the air along with a blast of heat, alerted me to his use of heat vision. The invisible beams focused on Brainiac's severed arm. The arm heated to red-hot. And then it vanished. My knife clattered to the ground.

Gingerly I picked up my knife. It was warm, but I could hold it without being burned. I looked back to the combatants. Brainiac still fought. Clark still endured, despite his momentary distraction. As I watched, a silver spear grew out of Brainiac's side, and molded itself into an arm. He reached again for Clark's throat. But Clark fended him off. The robot seemed weaker.

I adjusted my knife grip again. Once again, I stabbed Brainiac. Once again, he screamed, and once again, a piece of his body bloodlessly separated, and fell to the ground where Clark incinerated it. I felt a tinge of triumph. We were winning. If we could keep on carving and destroying…

"NO!" Brainiac shouted. He gestured. The Mason jar, full of Brainiac-bits we'd excised from Clark's memories, shattered. The substance inside it flicked its way to the figure locked in Clark's wrestling hold. Brainiac took on a silvery sheen as he absorbed the reinforcement. From Clark's gasp, the robot had increased in strength, too. Clark grabbed at the robot – it slithered through his grasp. Frantically, I lunged and took hold of one arm. For some reason, Brainiac could not escape my grasp, and Clark got a steady grip again.

I stabbed again furiously. The Swiss Army knife had eldritch power here in this virtual world, carrying a lethality way out of proportion to its size. Despite the sweat on Clark's brow, he managed to keep hold of the evil alien and destroy another piece of it at the same time. I carved away more, all the while keeping one hand on Brainiac. Both Clark and I had to touch Brainiac now, it seemed, otherwise he would be able to wriggle away.

Laughing wildly, I carved another slice. It flared and disappeared under Clark's gaze. Hysterical memories of cutting a Thanksgiving turkey clattered through my brain. Brainiac thinned, became weaker. Clark adjusted his grip, gaining a truer hold. I stabbed again and another fraction of Brainiac fell to the ground and burned up.

Brainiac writhed in desperation. He could not escape our combined grips. And we were whittling away at him, destroying him piece by piece. It would take only a little more….

"COME!" he shouted. And the world turned upside down.

Tiny pieces of Brainiac burrowed up from the depths of my mind, breaking my soul like the dirt on a flower bed after a long vine-like invader was weeded out. My identity shattered into a million fragments. I realized as I crumbled that Clark and I had been naïve to think that we could eliminate Brainiac on our own – we had found only the large pieces, the obvious boulders. We'd missed the pebbles and the sand.

He had invaded us deep down, leaving microscopic bits of himself in almost every part of us. Had we not destroyed so much of him already, he would never have needed to call those iotas to himself. But Brainiac was dying, and he shared with humans the need to fight till the end. So he pulled those bits to himself as he struggled with Clark and me. And the pulling exploded our minds.


	33. Chapter 33

From the previous chapter:

_ He had invaded us deep down, leaving microscopic bits of himself in almost every part of us. Had we not destroyed so much of him already, he would never have needed to call those iotas to himself. But Brainiac was dying, and he shared with humans the need to fight till the end. And so he pulled those bits to himself as he struggled with Clark and me. And the pulling exploded our minds._

_

* * *

_

Like a cube of sugar suddenly smashed into single grains, my memories shattered and dissipated. 

_I baked a pie at the Kent Farm, the apple slices tart against my tongue….I practiced falling, over and over, with Lois, as she lectured me about that day's self-defense practice….I jogged through Centennial Park, enjoying the exertion and the deep breaths…._

My grip on Brainiac loosened. I could not see Clark, lost as I was in a flood of memory.

_I heard a train passing in the night, as I slept over at my grandmother's house – I was seven years old…..Jonathan smiled at me…I pulled the pie out of the oven, enjoying the rich smell….my hand was large and I needed no hot pad, no protection against the heat….I saw my tenth-grade teacher in a skimpy dress and my eyes burned….suddenly the movie screen burst into flames…_

Wait. Those weren't my memories. Or were they? I spun in a cyclone of random thoughts and memories. I was bricks fallen from a wall, cards not just shuffled but thrown all over the room, a boulder shattered into gravel.

_I saw Lana Lang staring at me, saying, "I know when you're lying, Clark."…I drove the tractor, cramping all the while, knowing that once again I had failed to conceive….I ran at incredible speed, the world blurring around me….No, I was in Clark's arms, __**he**__ was running, but the world was still blurring around me….I stood in the Fortress of Solitude, knowing I had to take my training, reluctant to leave my friends and family….I stood in the Fortress of Solitude, half-dreading and half-wanting, awaiting Zod….._

I tried to hold on to one thing. I was Martha. I dug in my heels against the hurricane, crouching down, standing, staying. My life – and Clark's life too – whirled around me, a blizzard that clawed fiercely at me and tried to erode me away. I held on, a creature of pure will.

I reached out cautiously and grabbed a shard of memory. _At Metropolis base, I put the finishing touches on a plan to attack Zod…._The memory stayed with me. I reached out again. _I hugged Jonathan….I looked him in the eye…._

In my snatching of random memories, I reached out and touched another.

_/Clark/_

_ /Martha/_

_/Hold on….hold on….hold on…/_

We each clutched at fragments. Who those fragments belonged to did not matter now. We stood, back to back, against the storm. The other had a will as adamantine as my own. We joined.

Slowly we clawed our way back. We became aware of the outside world. Something struggled in our arms, and we knew it was important not to let it go. The blizzard whirled around us. A flake of memory stuck to us. _Brainiac. _That was who we held. He writhed, trying to squirm from our grasp. He writhed, trying to squirm from our separate grasps. How we held one being separately, but still jointly, I did not even comprehend.

Another wisp of memory drifted down, attracted by the first. More memories accumulated, drifting like snow. We should hold Brainiac, separately, yet together. We should destroy him. How? We searched, unable to see past the whirling storm. We felt for fragments that seemed right.

We cried in triumph. A large clot of memory came to us. We must dismember our captive and burn its pieces. We moved our smaller arms to cut. Brainiac struggled again, and our larger arms held him still as a piece of him fell to the ground.

Our eyes burned. Part of us was curious. _So that's how it's done. What an odd sensation. _But our triumph at the destruction of another fragment of Brainiac subsumed the curiosity.

More memories coalesced onto our figure. The whirling blizzard seemed thinner now. We remembered more. We felt ourself becoming distracted at the returning tide of memory. We pushed away the returning memories, focusing only on destroying our captive. We worked two bodies as one, our will singular. Cut. Burn. Hold on to the rest. Cut. Burn.

Our captive screamed at us as we whittled him away. _"Kal-El! You are foolish! They will only kill you!" _Part of us was troubled, sensing truth in the words. "_Kal-El! You can't trust them because they won't trust you. They will turn on you, Kal-El!" _

The troubled feeling grew. And yet, our will remained strong enough to hold Brainiac, to continue to cut and burn.

_"Kal-El! You said you would never kill!" _Part of us grew even more troubled. But another part of us hated. And we told ourself we were not killing. We were….another flash of memory came to us. We were only de-bugging a program. There was no killing involved. Only editing.

_"Kal-El!" _The final piece cried out one last time. We held it in our hands. We gazed at it. Part of us felt a deep satisfaction. Part of us felt disgust, as if completing a dirty job. We stared at it and incinerated it.

We stood, confused, on a dark plain. Snowy memories piled up around us. We were one, but we felt wrong. We waited. Nothing happened. Eventually we took up one of the pieces of memory that lay around us.

_-Racing to Metropolis, the world blurring around us –_

We picked up another piece.

_-Lying in bed, crying at the onset of the monthly visitation, knowing there would be no child this time –_

We took up more and more.

_-Sitting by an adult, tracing the letters in a book, learning the alphabet –_

_ -Lifting up a tractor, and staring in surprise and dismay as it soared through the air-_

_ -Jogging in Centennial Park-_

_ -Putting ground pepper on fresh tomatoes-_

_ -In a courtroom, arguing a case._

_ -Using heat vision to destroy a rifle bullet in mid-air_

The memories seemed different. We recognized that. We began to put them into different piles.

_-Canning vegetables, feeling accomplishment at the work, putting the jars in the cellar_

_Racing faster than a speeding bullet_

_Standing out on the farm, rejoicing in the clear blue sky_

_- Writhing in pain as meteor rock neared me_

The drifting memories accreted. Somewhere in the process it became more like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, albeit an extremely large, three-dimensional one. And yet as the process continued, each little fragment seemed to know where it wanted to go, slipping into place smoothly, snapping down firmly.

Perhaps three-quarters of the memories had been sorted. The remaining pieces whirled again, a mini-tornado that ended up with them surrounding us. Instead of blinding us and confusing us, the swirling fragments locked into place. And suddenly what had been one became two.

I was Martha Clark, sometimes known as Martha Clark Kent. And I stood back-to-back with Clark Kent, the alien who was my adopted son in an alternate world. And we had just destroyed Brainiac. Despite his attempt to destroy us, to strip us of our identities and destroy the pieces and move into our brainless shells – despite all this, somehow we had managed to hang on. We'd held on and turned the tables against him.

Inside I felt strangely unsettled. Who I was – my _self_ – had been attacked and jumbled and mixed with another. Was everything I remembered really true? Some of the things I remembered could not have been my memories – they had to be Clark's. For instance, I could never have felt the curious itching and burning of my eyes accompanied by the slow tug of arousal.

Except that I had. I knew the stirring of sexual desire in body parts I didn't even have. I felt what it was like to catch a car in mid-air. I remembered standing at the top of a cliff, falling off and then soaring up, my arms and legs catching the wind, laughing. I felt myself hang in the air, suspended above the clouds, my body tingling as I absorbed sunlight. I remembered doing things no human could possibly do.

Martha had never flown on her own. Clark had. But it felt like it had happened to Martha – to me.

I thought back to the time the aliens landed. My brain remembered two things simultaneously. The first was being captured by Zod and imprisoned in the alien Fortress. The other was seeing Zod – except I knew him as Nam-Ek – and Aethyr, and sending them into a ring of glowing fire. _The Phantom Zone portal, _my memories supplied. I remembered human civilization being destroyed. And I remembered everything going back to normal after the black ship landed, with humans never knowing how narrow their escape from Kryptonian domination had been.

My eyes narrowed. Did I have all of Clark's memories? When had he come to this world? I thought back.

I remembered shame – hot, burning, to know that I was a member of the race which had done this to Earth. I flinched under the lash of guilt, knowing that I had failed – I should have protected this planet. I felt my heart sink as the true scope of the disaster became clear – a frozen Earth, civilization destroyed, almost every species exterminated, a few stubborn humans clinging to life at the edges of Kryptonian hegemony.

I writhed in pain as my captors brought kryptonite near me. I shivered in fear when they coldly discussed killing me. I sat in my cell, frantically rehearsing a speech, hoping to save myself by offering my services to repair, to restore.

I remembered my determination as I swore to use my powers only for good, only to help. I wished I could explain my feelings to the untrusting, suspicious figures around – the humans who looked at me so warily. I felt the burden of being Gulliver in a land of Lilliputians, every day moderating my strength, trying not to hurt the tiny ones. Because other Gullivers had stomped through, crushing them, destroying their civilization, hurting them for the fun of it. And the Lilliputians remembered that, and lived in fear of it happening again.

And these Lilliputians were armed with poison and could kill me if they really wanted to. I wobbled on the daily tightrope, wondering each day how to use my abilities discreetly, feeling embarrassed at showing how I could lift a tree or warm up some cold coffee.

I remembered pleasure at seeing myself – Martha! – despite my sour face. And I remembered excitement at being tasked to travel with myself on a mission for Lex. And then I remembered shock as I flinched back when I neared myself, sure that I would hurt me.

I shook my head. Experiencing Clark's memories of me – his views of me – and at the same time, knowing my memories of myself at the same time – it left me….unsettled.

And I was astounded – and ashamed – at the feelings he held for me. In the other world, I was his mother. He loved her deeply and fiercely. He would guard her, protect her from anything. And for her sake, he'd taken on that role with me – willing servant, defiant protector, true to the last. Even though I hated him and feared him, he stood by me.

As time went on, he understood how different I was – Martha Clark, childless lawyer of Metropolis was so very very different than Martha Clark Kent, adoptive mother of an alien boy, resident of the Kent Farm in Smallville. He grew to know Martha Clark, and loved her anyway.

He had fears that he would never be welcome on this Earth. Late at night, he tossed and turned, wondering if he could build a place for himself, knowing that it was probably futile, that he would always be, at best, on probation.

And he had other three-o'clock-in-the-morning fears. He wanted Chloe, in his own world the woman who knew his secret and accepted him. And in this world, Chloe was married to Lex Luthor. He would never have this Chloe's love.

Could he marry? He was alien, the last of his kind. And he was a young man, healthy and strong. Other men his age had girlfriends, wives. He worried if he was normal. Late at night, when he eased his rampant flesh he thought about having a partner. And he tried not to think about hurting her – _or even killing her _– when he lost control. It was his nightmare.

And that nightmare was only the most acute point of a whole mass of fears. Holding someone too hard…..grabbing someone too fast….accidentally burning someone with heat vision….losing control of his abilities….I hung my head in shame. I had been convinced that every Kryptonian wanted to hurt, or would do damage out of thoughtlessness. I now realized that it had been easy for Clark to swear not to hurt anyone, because that was how he lived. The thought of injuring someone was totally anathema to him.

He'd said that he wanted to help; we had taken that with a grain of salt, assuming that what he really wanted was to be free. He did want to be free, but wanting to help was just as great. It was so simple we hadn't believed him. But it was true. Clark Kent radiated compassion

And he radiated honor. In his unyielding determination to do what was right, I read the echoes of Jonathan Kent. My stubborn husband, who I still loved somehow, years later, even after our divorce, even though I didn't like him anymore. Through Clark's memories, I saw Jonathan and Martha kissing, heard them laughing together, felt them hugging. I saw how our marriage could have been different, how having Clark made us better, and I wept for the lost opportunity.

I shook my head. With an almost audible snap, I was myself again. I grasped the fraying edges of my identity. I had thought Clark to be completely alien, with a human façade. Seeing the world through his eyes, experiencing his memories, made me understand I was wrong. Clark was a human with alien powers.

He only wanted to belong. That was why he balked at showing his abilities to those who were not in the know. Because he knew their faces would twist and they'd look at him differently. That was why he ached inside at every little flinch and withdrawal of his companions.

He was confused and lonely, trying to do the best he could in this strange new world of ours. He tried hard every day, measuring his triumphs in one extra smile, another friendly wave of the hand, one more person who didn't grimace at his presence.

For the first time since Clark Kent had come to our world, I laid down my suspicions and resentment. I had no need to worry about Clark. He wasn't going to take over the world. He wasn't going to enslave humans. He wasn't going to hurt me. I could trust him.

I sighed deeply. It was a sigh of relief. I didn't have to be afraid anymore. I could let go of my hate. I felt light, as if I were flying. Laughter bubbled up inside. I was free.

I caught a movement from the corner of my eye.

"Martha?" Clark said cautiously.

I took a moment to stretch and luxuriate. We had defeated the evil. I knew my partner to be good. And I was free.

"Martha?" Clark repeated, coming nearer. "Are you all right?"

Of course that would be his first thought. He took my arms and stared me in the face. "Martha?" Now there was a tinge of worry in his voice.

"I'm fine," I said absently. As Clark neared, I _sensed _him – confusion, concern, tired triumph. When he touched me, what I _sensed _became clearer, stronger.

He let go of my arms and looked at me oddly. The _sense _of him became less sharp, less focused, but I could still _feel _him. "We won," I said quietly.

Triumph flared in him – or was it in me? He raised an eyebrow. "Yes." That was all he said, but we both knew what it meant.

"Clark…."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry….I never knew."

A wave of quiet affection. "Thank you." A moment passed. Then there was a hot surge of embarrassment. "You felt…you saw…."

I was about to reassure him when suddenly I realized – if I'd lived his life, then he'd lived mine. All of my arguments, all of the bad thoughts I'd had about him, my life with Jonathan, my imprisonment, my re-programming as a sex slave – _oh God._ I was so ashamed. I'd felt a surge of embarrassment from him. He must have gotten a tidal wave from me. A hot blush crawled up my cheeks.

He stepped close to me again and hugged me. As before, the _sense _of him leapt into closer focus. "We won't tell," he murmured. "It's ours to keep." Sincerity radiated from him, overcoming nervousness and the ebbing embarrassment. "Ours alone."

"Yes," I agreed. He would be the keeper of my secrets. And I would be the keeper of his. And we would remain silent, telling no one of our deepest fears and longings.

He held me for awhile longer. I basked in his aura – not his physical aura of invulnerability, but in the air of straightness and truth and sincerity that came from him. How had I missed this before? I realized that underlying look of hope was back in his eyes.

Eventually he let me go. "I think we're ready to go back."

"Yes."

Wordlessly, we trekked back through the dark forest, easily finding the path despite our lack of maps. We felt where to go instinctively. As we walked, I tried to maintain the feeling of lightness and freedom. It stayed with me, but it diminished as I began to realize my exhaustion. Clark noticed me stumbling and offered his arm. I took it, and gratefully leaned on him. A short distance later, he noticed my dragging footsteps, and swung me up into his arms. He'd held me like this when we were flying….

We came to the clearing where we'd started. Clark set me down. I staggered slightly.

"Jor-El!" he cried. "Jor-El!"

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. "You have defeated Brainiac?"

I stood forward. "Yes. We did."

"I must scan you."

"Go ahead." By now I was numb. A light flashed over me. Last time I had felt nothing during Jor-El's scan. This time, there was an itch in my head, a sense of unsettlement, as if Jor-El was lifting thoughts and looking under them, or stirring up long-buried memories.

After a moment the itch subsided. "You are free of the infection," Jor-El confirmed. "Now I must scan Kal-El."

The light cascaded over Clark and he froze in place. Had I looked like that? Jor-El scanned him for what seemed a long time. Finally the light went off. Clark staggered, and caught himself.

"Congratulations, my son. Martha Kent." Was there a hint of triumph and satisfaction in the normally emotionless voice of the AI? "All traces of the infection have been excised. You may proceed with your future plans. This facility is safe now."

I wobbled. Exhaustion definitely was taking its toll. Clark caught me, and swept me up again. "Tell Perry first, before you let us out," he reminded the AI.

"Very well." I caught a hint of echoes. Hopefully Perry was setting down his escape crystal and breathing a sigh of relief.

The world around us shivered and melted away. We stood on the platform before the control console. Or rather, Clark stood and I collapsed. Before I hit the ground, he had gathered me up again. I heard Perry rushing up.

"Is she all right?" Deep suspicion echoed in his voice.

"She'll be fine, she's just exhausted," Clark told him. He addressed the air. "Jor-El! We need a bed for Martha!"

Even half-asleep, I could sense confusion and exasperation. I heard Perry offer, "Clark, doesn't Martha have to agree with everything you tell Jor-El?"

I sensed understanding, and an exhausted, exasperated humor. "Yes."

The next thing I knew, Perry was slapping my face gently. "Martha. Tell Jor-El you need a bed. Tell him. A bed."

"Go 'way," I muttered.

"Tell Jor-El you need a bed. You want a bed." Wouldn't he shut up? Clark was holding me. He was warm. I was fine. "Tell Jor-El you need a bed."

He wouldn't stop slapping me. It was easier to just say it. "Jor-El. I need a bed," I mumbled. I sensed mild triumph. Was it from Clark? Or Perry? Gentle hands dumped me onto a soft bed and I fell asleep.

* * *

I woke, hearing quiet voices in the background. I opened my eyes to see Clark and Perry having an intent conversation. From what I heard, it seemed as if Clark was filling Perry in on what had happened during the Brainiac hunt. Perry looked tired – I'd had a chance to sleep, he hadn't. Plus he'd been tense for hours, wondering if he was going to have to run for his life from a Brainiac-infected super-powered Kryptonian.

The men's voices cut off as I stretched leisurely, then got out of bed. I still had lightness of spirit, still felt free.

"Hey," I said quietly as I approached Perry and Clark.

Perry reached out and hugged me, and to my surprise, I didn't feel uncomfortable and pull away as I usually did. "How are you feeling?" he asked, and Clark echoed the question.

"Fine, now. I just needed a little sleep."

There was an awkward silence for a minute. I couldn't meet Clark's eyes. It was one thing to know each other so intimately in what was basically just a computer simulation. It was another to actually meet and interact in real life. He seemed just as embarrassed, and, when I glanced up for a moment, he hastily pulled his eyes away.

Perry, the observant newsman, picked up on it right away. "Hey, are you two all right?"

"Yes. " "We're fine." Clark and I blurted the words out simultaneously. What were we supposed to tell him – _Perry, we got a little too close to each other – if you define "close" as living the other person's life. _Some buried secrets of my life should never see the light of day, and now I knew that Clark felt the same. Too bad that Brainiac had forced us to expose our shameful bits and have those memories withering in the harsh light of the other's regard.

Perry gave each of us a piercing look. "OK, if you say so." His tone said he didn't believe it. He walked over to examine the bed, ostentatiously giving us a chance to talk in his absence.

Clark looked down, then leaned over. "Martha," he said, "would you prefer _It never happened_, or should we go with _We will never speak of it?_" His voice was serious but there was a hint of amusement too. He cracked a smile. "Or should we just concede that it was entirely TMI?"

"TMI?"

"Too much information."

I had to laugh. Clark's devilish eyes pulled me in. "Mr. Kent, it was _definitely _too much information, and I'm sure you feel the same way about me." Somehow his calm acceptance and ability to see the crazy humor in the situation soothed me, toned down the embarrassment.

"Yeah, but I'm hoping that I can use some of those lawyer speaking tricks the next time I – " he cut off abruptly. We both knew he wasn't saying, _The next time I'm pleading for my life. _" – the next time I need to argue something," he finished lamely.

"I hope so, because what I got from you is that "Is not!" and "Are too!" are the limits of your arguing ability." I was desperate to keep the humor going, not let us slip into silent embarrassment again.

Clark smiled again. "Yeah. Gotta do better than that." He sobered. "So, we're going with the _We'll never speak of it_ option?

I shrugged. "It happened. Now we know each other all too well. Frankly, I would prefer to not speak of it." What I really preferred was that _Clark_ not speak of _me _to anyone.

"Deal. Mutual silence." He thrust out a hand.

I took it. "Deal." I shook his hand, my small palm dwarfed in his large one. "I know you're good at keeping secrets."

He nodded solemnly. "And I know you're strong inside. You won't tell."

"_I'm_ strong?"

"Martha, you're the strongest person I know. When we were fighting

Brainiac, and he ripped us apart, it was you that kept us holding on." That weird sensitivity of mine told me that Clark was telling the truth.

I looked away, nonplussed. "OK." Clark's earnest expression made me uncomfortable. "Perry!" I called. He looked up. "You can come back now."

He walked up to us. "So, what's the plan?"

My eyes met Clark's. We'd been so focused on defeating Brainiac, we'd forgotten….well, the entire rest of the situation. We were joint controllers of alien technology that had the power to do just about anything. What were we going to do with it?

After getting inside Clark's head, I had no fears that he would use the Fortress for world domination as the other Kryptonians had done. He wasn't that kind of guy. I knew it, absolutely.

"Well," I started hesitantly, "you want to get home, right?" I'd picked _that _up from my unscheduled tour of Clark Kent.

Clark shrugged. "Yeah, but I can't leave this world now. There's so much that needs to be done…."

"What do _you_ want to do, Martha?" Perry challenged me. "You're a player now."

I stood there, stunned. I was. Except I didn't have the first idea of what I wanted to do. For so long, I'd been just reacting and trying to make it through each day. Planning for the future never been considered. I was too busy trying to survive today. And, I realized as I narrowed my eyes, Brainiac's subtle underweaving throughout my psyche had contributed to this mindset. He'd helped to keep me stuck, trapped. He'd made me think I couldn't do anything, that I had no options.

But now I was free. Now I had options. Now….I didn't know. "I don't know."

Perry stood between Clark and me, straightening his shoulders. "Then I have a suggestion."

Clark and I waited silently.

"You're tired. I'm tired. We're all tired. Let's go home to Metropolis. Get a good night's sleep. Have Jor-El grow that portal to the _Daily Planet _building he was talking about. We come up here next Thursday – Clark, you can fly us here if the portal isn't ready by then – and we bring our picnic lunch and we sit here and brainstorm and get ideas. But right now we need to rest." He checked his wristwatch. "Heck, it's two a.m. in Metropolis."

I could almost feel Clark's agreement, and his weariness. "Fine by me." He gestured to me. "Let's talk with Jor-El and then we'll go, OK?"

"OK."

It only took a few minutes to request a portal be grown to the _Planet_. As we walked back to Perry, Clark addressed him. "You have my word that I won't come up here without you two."

Perry nodded. "I trust you."

Clark smiled wearily. "And I trust you."


	34. Chapter 34

Jor-El had informed Clark and Martha that it would take several days to grow a portal to the Planet, so to get home tonight, Clark would have to fly them both. At least now they trusted him.

Clark grasped his passengers carefully and lifted off. No one said anything, and he knew that Perry and Martha had to be more exhausted than he was. The Arctic wind whipped past them, and the humans would have frozen in short order if Clark had not automatically extended his protective aura around them. He had long since made a habit of that.

Protecting two people, however, made it necessary for Clark to fly more slowly. It didn't matter tonight, though; there was no rush, and it was relaxing to see the bright stars in the northern sky. His passengers held still in his arms, no squirming - they were old pros now at being "swept off their feet". As ever, the flying calmed Clark.

Clark landed quietly around the corner from the _Daily Planet_ building, as usual. Although the secret of his alien ancestry was long since blown, Clark still tried to be discreet. There were still people migrating to Metropolis who hadn't heard about the resident Kryptonian. Clark had actually had meaningful conversations with a few of them before someone else spilled the beans.

"Here we are," Clark said unnecessarily as he carefully set Martha and Perry down. "Meet you here next week, Perry?"

"OK." The other man reached out to shake his hand. "Bye, Martha."

"Martha, are you all set?" Clark said, getting ready to take her back to Metropolis base.

"Wait," she said. "Perry?"

Perry turned back.

"Can I – I want to spend the night here. With you." Her voice trembled slightly.

Perry locked eyes with her for a long second. "That's fine, Martha."

"Clark, you'll pick me up tomorrow morning, OK?"

"Um….sure."

"Well, then….good night, Clark." Martha took Perry's arm in hers and almost marched him around the corner to the _Planet _entrance.

Clark's eyes widened at Martha's uncharacteristic behavior. It surprised him. Martha had never done anything like this before. He ruthlessly suppressed a twinge of rejection – Martha didn't have to go home with _him_, just because she always had in the past. She could stay with Perry. It was OK.

Despite telling himself that, Clark couldn't stop himself from using his special vision to follow her and Perry through the lobby, where they greeted the guard and called the elevator. He followed their silent journey up to the penthouse, where Perry quietly ushered Martha in. He saw Perry ask, "Are you all right, Martha?"

"Hold me," she said, almost crying. No, she _was _crying. "Hold me."

Clark gazed through the brick and saw Perry stand before Martha and wrap his arms around her. He said nothing, letting her cry, the tears running down her face unchecked.

Leading Martha over to the couch, Perry sat beside her and kept an arm around her. She leaned into him, accepting his comfort and after a long time her tears subsided.

"All right?" Perry asked quietly.

"Yes." A pause. "It's been a long day."

Perry chuckled wearily. "You might say that."

Sitting in companionable silence on the couch together, Martha finally lifted her head. She met Perry's gaze. They locked eyes. After a long moment, Martha leaned forward slowly. Hesitantly, she kissed him.

Surprised, Perry did nothing for a minute. Then he leaned into the kiss. He put his arms around her and held her closer.

They broke the kiss, stared at each other, and leaned in to kiss again.

"Please, just hold me tonight," Martha said breathlessly. Perry obliged, hugging her closer to his body, and returning for another passionate kiss.

She drew back, breathing heavily. Perry lifted her head, carefully pushed her hair back, and gently wiped away a tear on her cheek. She leaned into him again, and hugged him tightly.

"Hold me, please," she pleaded. "Tell me I'm still human."

Clark flinched. He was suddenly aware that he was eavesdropping. No, he was spying. He resolutely closed his eyes and shook his head. He felt even more tired.

He lifted off and made the short flight to Metropolis base. He greeted the gate guard, and walked into the underground lair. For the millionth time, Clark thought that he should live at the _Planet _building full-time. The _Planet _building had sunlight, he could fly out the window if he wanted, and the walls weren't lined with lead. Not like Metropolis base. Of course, living at Metropolis base meant that he could take his orders from Lex every morning… that was such an incentive, Clark thought bitterly.

Despite being tired, he kept alert in the hallways. He hadn't been ambushed with kryptonite since the first week, his self-pitying whine to Martha notwithstanding. But once bitten, twice shy, so Clark was always careful to pay attention to what he heard, and to not hesitate to use his special vision to identify passersby well before they came in proximity.

He heard a familiar heartbeat and respiration. Bitterly thinking of how Lex had put a bomb in him, Clark called upon every ounce of will. He forced himself to remain calm. He fought down his sudden surge of rage, suppressed the anger boiling inside him. He had to keep up his clueless façade.

Clark pushed down the knowledge of what Lex had done to him. He reached for the control that he'd developed during his months here in the alternate world. A raging Kryptonian was a scary Kryptonian. He'd learned well how to keep a placid exterior. He pulled the shreds of his composure around him. _Calm….calm… calm. Breathe deeply. Calm._ He waited until the other came into visual range. "Lex?" Good. His voice sounded natural. They shook hands. "You're up late." He was glad Lex didn't have Kryptonian powers, couldn't hear Clark's racing heart.

"Chloe's off with Bruce again. I never sleep well when she's away." The other man was matter-of-fact. Clark always wondered how much this Lex knew of his attraction for the Chloe of Clark's own world. And did he wonder if Clark transferred that attraction to the Chloe of this world? They never spoke of it. Just another huge topic that nobody ever talked about, just like nobody ever chatted with Clark about what the aliens had done to Earth. "And you're up late too." Lex's shrewd eyes met Clark's.

Clark tried to hide his sudden leap into full wakefulness. Item, Clark Kent had just re-established a Kryptonian Fortress of Solitude up in the Arctic. Item, if Lex knew that, if any human knew that, it would be considered a betrayal of Clark's pact. Item, Clark Kent had an implanted GPS tracker. Item, Clark Kent also had a bomb implanted in his abdomen and Lex had the detonator.

The pieces came into sharp focus. If Lex had been tracking Clark – and surely he did, Clark thought – how would Clark explain his hours-long stay up in the Arctic? How would he explain that he'd come directly to Metropolis from the Arctic? Especially that Lex knew that Clark had intended to take Perry and Martha to Australia. Was Lex up this late just to meet Clark? Or was he checking out an anomaly?

Clark abruptly felt as if he walked on a tightrope over a deep chasm. He'd been lulled into a sense of camaraderie with this Lex, but it seemed as if Lex, no matter what universe he was in, was a careful, formidable opponent, always thinking one step ahead. In other words, Clark had better come up with a plausible story, quick.

He settled for the truth. Or part of the truth, anyway. "I think that Martha and Perry have developed….a thing," Clark said awkwardly.

"A thing?" Lex was amused. Better amused than menaced, Clark thought.

"A romantic thing." He wasn't lying. He'd just seen them kissing. And Martha had asked to stay with Perry. "And, um, I didn't want to be all third-wheel there…"

"So what?" If Clark hadn't known about the GPS and the bomb, he would have only heard a friendly query. But now he heard a disguised probe from a man who obviously felt it vital to be informed of the whereabouts of the alien, the politician who kept an eye on the actions of every important player in this new world.

"So, I went off to the Arctic and spent some time there examining my life."

"Examining your life?" Lex was definitely amused, Clark decided.

"Some might call it moping," Clark said with just the right mix of wounded pride and deprecating humor. Once again, he wondered how much Lex knew of his love for Chloe.

Lex laughed.

Clark went on. "Anyway, Martha decided to stay at the _Planet _with Perry tonight." The truth, and suddenly Clark was hoping very much that Lex either didn't know or wouldn't question, why, if Clark had left the other two in Australia, he'd traveled directly from the Arctic to Metropolis. Clark realized with a cold stab of anxiety that slips like that could lead to real trouble around Lex.

"I didn't think she was the type," mused Lex. "On the other hand, Martha has always surprised me."

"Me too." It was the honest truth. "Well, you know, no accounting for tastes and all that, Lex." Clark tried to put a cheerful face on it. Time to end this conversation, fast. "Good night, Lex."

To his relief, Lex let it go. "Good night, Clark."

* * *

I woke and stretched, smiling like Scarlett O'Hara had the morning after Rhett Butler carried her up that staircase.

A sheet-covered figure next to me mumbled. "Mmm… no get up."

I put an affectionate hand on Perry. Love for him cascaded through me. He'd taken nervous me, and showed me I was finally free of Brainiac. Thoroughly and repeatedly. And quite satisfyingly. I thought back to our conversation of last night:

_"I know there are things you can't… you don't talk about, Martha," Perry said, holding me in his arms. "If you ever do want to talk, I'm here." His arms around me felt strong and reassuring, not prickly and annoying as they had when I'd been infected by Brainiac. I could touch a man again and take solace in that. _

_ And Perry was human, his arms felt human. After Zod, and then even being held so much by Clark, to be held by a human… it was good. _

_ I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat. I swallowed hard. "Just hold me," I finally managed to choke out. "Just hold me." _

_ And he did, until the holding turned into something more, and we surprised each other. _

I sat up and swung my legs off the bed. Perry poked his head out from under the covers, his hair tousled. He smiled at me, partly knowing, but mostly widely and openly and with such an air of happiness that I grinned back at him.

"Leaving?"

"I have court at Metropolis base in an hour."

"Well, in that case…" Perry hoisted himself up, reached for me, and kissed me satisfyingly.

"You'd better stop or I'll never get there."

"Well, in _that _case…" he kissed me again.

Reluctantly I dragged myself away. "I've just got time to get a shower before Clark comes to pick me up."

Perry got up and padded around the bed to sit next to me. "Clark. Hmmm. So do you two have a plan?" His tone had gone from romantic to businesslike. I halfway mourned the change – Romantic Perry couldn't be beat. But it was time to face the day.

"Not really. Yesterday was… I guess the best word is _intense_." I leaned into Perry anyway, and he put his arm around me. It felt good to touch, to feel again.

"Are you going to take that Kryptonian download?" Perry asked neutrally.

"Yes." Now that he mentioned it. I had forgotten all that in the afterglow.

"That's good."

"Why?"

"I know you're the co-owner, or whatever you want to call it, but, Martha, even with everything I said, I'm still a little nervous about a Kryptonian owning this Fortress, here on Earth," Perry admitted reluctantly. "Maybe it's just seeing things in the sober light of day."

"I can see where you're coming from. In fact, I was right there with you yesterday," I began. "I can assure you, though, that Clark is sincere about all his…"

"Protestations of innocence?" Perry asked sardonically.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that." I took a deep breath. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet, Perry, but what Clark and I went through… I know him better than anyone else now, and I can tell you that Earth has nothing to fear from Clark Kent."

Perry looked at me, hope and suspicion warring in his expression.

"You're thinking I've been brainwashed."

"I have to wonder." He didn't deny the accusation.

"Perry, I'm more myself now than I have been in three years." I leaned up and kissed him.

He pulled me to him, and extended our kiss. After he released me, he smiled sardonically. "Ah, what the hell. If Clark is OK, then we'll be fine. If he's not, then you and I will be the first ones up against the wall when Lex finds out, and it won't matter then anyway." He smiled ruefully. "I'm with you all the way, Martha."

* * *

Clark came to fetch me back to the base shortly after I'd finished my shower. He made desultory conversation with Perry as I finished my hair. They both carefully danced around the elephant in the room – Perry and I were now in an "adult" relationship.

I did catch the needling tone to Perry's voice, though, when he brought up the other big elephant. "I guess the shoe chafes pretty hard on the other foot, Clark, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"It's no fun to think someone could destroy you in a heartbeat if they don't like what you say or do. All they have to do is lift their finger."

Clark's lips tightened. "Yeah," he said evenly. "I guess I have a new understanding as to why everyone is always so nervous around me." He added hesitantly, "I knew it before but now I _feel_ it."

"Don't ever forget that feeling," Perry challenged Clark. In his eyes, I saw the memory of those days when Perry had had to kneel before Zod to save his life and the lives of those at the _Planet_.

Clark laughed bitterly. "I don't think I will." He rubbed his abdomen nervously.

I cleared my throat. "I'm ready to go."

We made our good-byes to Perry. When we'd exited the building and Clark had scooped me up, I noticed that he was flying slower than usual.

"Clark?" "Martha?" We queried each other at the same time. I nodded to him to speak first.

"Um, Martha, I was wondering if you'd mind making a quick detour up to the Fortress so Jor-El can take this thing out of me." I felt his underlying fear.

"Sure." What was he afraid of, I wondered? Was he worried that I would say "no"?

Clark put on the speed, and we reached our Arctic destination in a matter of minutes. We called up Jor-El's avatar.

"Jor-El, I have an explosive device in my abdomen. I want you to remove it." Clark managed to keep his voice admirably steady, I thought.

"Second," I chimed in.

"I cannot do this, my son," Jor-El said calmly.

"What?" Clark paled.

"You can't?" I echoed. "You can turn down the Sun, change Earth's climate, but you can't remove a simple bomb?"

"I am forbidden to harm Kal-El."

"Sure wish the Fortress in my world had that programming," Clark muttered.

"Harm Kal-El? How would removing the bomb harm him?" I asked.

"Since the explosive device contains element 126, I am unable to use normal force field methods. Removal must be accomplished by physical invasion of the body. That is counter to my programming."

"You're not being very helpful." Yeah, I owned half of this ultimate-power alien Fortress, and so far all it had done was throw obstacles in our path.

"I am sorry, Martha." The avatar's voice was implacable.

Clark looked as if his puppy had died. "Surgery's pretty hard when I'm invulnerable."

I grasped at straws. "Well, the bomb isn't the only thing Clark has to worry about. He has a locator transceiver. Lex is tracking him. Can you give us something to mess with that?"

Clark raised his head in interest. "Yeah. Some sort of, um, spoofing thing. I don't want Lex finding out that suddenly I'm spending a lot of time up in the Arctic."

A tiny box materialized. "This should fulfill your needs, my son."

Clark picked it up and examined it, and made some adjustments to its controls. He looked relieved. "OK, Martha, according to this, I'm now heading back to Metropolis from the _Planet _building. I'm dawdling – you must be delaying me." He smiled at my amused chuckle, and put the device into his pocket.

"What's our story going to be for Lex?" I asked.

"Um, I told him that I'd left you and Perry in Australia yesterday, and came up here to the Arctic for moping purposes." Clark smiled briefly. "And I came up here again, for a little fresh air and more moping before I had to go pick you up from Perry at the _Planet _building."

"Why were you moping?" I asked curiously.

Clark shuffled. "Because you and Perry had, um, a romantic thing going on, and I didn't."

"Oh." Was that only a cover story? Or was Clark telling the absolute truth? I knew him now and I heard the wistful longing under the awkward speech.

I wouldn't mention it. It was too embarrassing for both of us. I went back to the cover story. "Well, that might work," I said slowly, "assuming Lex doesn't go back and cross-check our whereabouts at particular times."

"I'm hoping that he's too busy to keep an eye on me 24/7," Clark said. "If he really looks, though, he'll find that I came directly to Metropolis from the Arctic last night – that I didn't go back to Australia to pick you up like I said I did. And he'll see that I came up here this morning _after _I got you from the _Planet._" He smiled. "But now that I know he's tracking me, and I have this – " he gestured toward the box. " – I won't make any more mistakes."

"I hope so," I said, chilled. "We've got to keep him lulled till you get that bomb taken care of."

"How?" Clark asked simply.

I thought back to what Jor-El had said. "Physical invasion of the body." I shivered – here in the Fortress, even though it wasn't Zod's Fortress anymore, those words carried bad connotations for me. I resolutely put those memories out of my head. I was cured now. Brainiac was gone. I could love again.

The solution came to me. "Clark. What about Dr. Klein? He's a surgeon. He's even got experience now."

Hope crossed Clark's face, followed by despair. "But I'm invulnerable."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hello, meteor rock?"

Clark looked at his watch. "It's getting late. I've got to get you to Metropolis base before Lex gets suspicious." He moved to scoop me up.

"Clark. Let's decide this."

"OK."

"You dig up all the supplies that Bernie might need. What did he use for Miranda's appendectomy?"

"Um… a lot of stuff. A surgery table, and oxygen, and…" he trailed off.

"Don't you remember?"

"I was busy! Everything was a blur."

I burst out laughing. "I can't believe you just said that."

Clark looked confused for a minute, then got it. "Yeah."

I took a deep breath. "OK. You scrounge around, get everything that you _think _Bernie might need, and some extra too. Bring it here."

"Here?"

"Where else can we have total privacy? I'm certainly not going to let Bernie operate on you at Gloria's." Having Clark unconscious, and vulnerable, in a place where pretty much everyone hated him – yep, that would be bad. So that ruled out basically everywhere on Earth except the Fortress.

"But Bernie will find out about…" he gestured at the Fortress.

"Who's he going to tell?"

"Everyone at Gloria's," Clark said glumly. "And the word will get back to Metropolis."

"Swear him to secrecy."

"Bernie… he babbles. You know that, Martha."

"But what if he could talk Kryptonian technology and physics with Jor-El?" I played my trump card. "Don't you think he'd stay quiet about that?"

"No, actually I think he'd tell everyone. He's the kind of guy that wants to publish."

I sighed in exasperation. "Clark. Tell him the whole story. Tell him what Lex did to you. Ask him to help you." At Clark's tiny movement of withdrawal, I added, "Trust him."

He smiled weakly. "I'd like to." He rubbed a hand on his abdomen again. "I guess I'm finding it harder to trust than I used to."

I chuckled humorlessly. "Welcome to the club." I met his eyes. We were both thinking of Clark standing before the tribunal, handcuffed, asking us to trust him, to set him free. "Except now, well, maybe I'm going the other way. Trusting someone is hard. But I've found that trusting people sometimes gives results beyond reason."

He met my eyes. Everything we'd gone through reverberated between us. Clark nodded slowly. "Well…"

"Besides," I said pragmatically, "who do you trust more? Bernie, or Lex?"

"Bernie," Clark said instantly.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"OK, Martha. I'll get the stuff. But will you come with me to ask Bernie?"

"Clark, if you want that, it won't be till next week. I've got cases scheduled… I couldn't get free, not without suspicion, till then."

"That's OK. I'm busy all week too. I can wait till then. Besides, that'll give me some time to get the supplies together." He glanced at his watch again. "We've really got to get going."

This time, when he scooped me up, I didn't protest. He got us back to Metropolis base very quickly.

* * *

The week flew by, as usual – always plenty to do when civilization needed re-establishing. I didn't even see Clark – he was very busy at the refinery.

I visited Perry once, and spent the night. It took a lot longer to get back to Metropolis base without Clark's help. Thank God for bicycles. They didn't require any of our limited petroleum stores, and pedaling through the spring air was curiously liberating.

I came in that morning, and ran into Chloe.

"Martha!"

"Chloe."

"Tell me about him." Her smile was wistful.

"Oh, Chloe, he's wonderful." We moved out of the hall, into a side room. Even the cheerless underground military décor couldn't dampen my mood. "Perry is… well, you know what kind of a journalist he is."

"I do." Sadness in her eyes. Chloe had always wanted to write for the _Daily Planet, _and Perry White was the kind of reporter she'd wanted to be. Now that was out of her reach. She'd cast her lot with Lex and now she had to be one of the leaders of the new planet – Earth, that is.

"And he's strong, but, you know, gentle." I gave her a significant glance.

"But Martha, are you happy?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "I am." Strange. I hadn't been happy in so long, I didn't know how it felt. This odd walking-on-air feeling… well, it was odd.

"I never thought…"

"What?"

"Well, with everything that happened to you, I didn't think…"

"That I'd be able to overcome it?"

"Yes." Chloe was honest. I'd told her a very little bit of what had happened to me, up there in the Fortress with Brainiac and Zod.

"It was hard to get over it," I conceded. "But, as I've gotten to know Clark… I learned that not all the Kryptonians were bad. He helped me see that there's more to life than just hating."

Chloe gave me a look. "You've changed."

"I guess I have."

"You know, Martha, with what you said about Clark… don't you worry about him sometimes? Don't you have those three o'clock in the morning doubts?"

I almost said, "Never," because I didn't have any more doubts about Clark. I'd seen what he was, up there in the Fortress, where we hunted Brainiac together. But how would I explain that? So, instead, I said, "Well, doesn't' everyone?" Because the old Martha had doubts, and she wasn't shy about telling them to everyone. "Chloe, you traveled with him for two months. Don't you have a feeling for his character by now?"

Hesitantly, she said, "I thought I did. I thought he was what he said – an alien raised as a human, with our values."

"And?"

"He's still that, but what plans is he making? What's he going to do?"

A chill ran through my gut. She didn't even know that the Fortress had been re-instantiated. "You've been around Lex too long."

She shrugged. "I know. I want to believe the best in people, but I've been disappointed so many times. Not as much as Lex, but it's happened. And, if I'm wrong about Clark, if we're wrong, it would be catastrophic." Unsaid was the memory of what the first Kryptonian invasion had done.

"Has he reneged on the deal?" I asked.

"No… but he's done stuff we haven't expected."

"What?"

"Taking the _Daily Planet _job, for one."

"Chloe, just because Clark said he'd help rebuild doesn't mean that he can't do other stuff on the side! You don't own him!"

"I know. But Lex is always wondering – what's Clark up to? What's he going to do next? And because I'm with Lex, I start wondering too."

My heart sank. I'd always counted Chloe as one of Clark's partisans. Now I saw how little Lex trusted Clark, despite his fine words. I saw how shaky their alliance was, how fragile. One day, I knew, Lex would set off that bomb in Clark's abdomen, no matter how good Clark acted. And Perry and I were close to Clark. Would we be distrusted, too?

"I just don't think Clark will be the first one to break the deal," I said lamely.

"Let's hope so." Chloe merged back into the flow of traffic in the halls.

Damn her. She'd taken my happy, airy mood and turned it into a leaden weight. I hoped Clark was making progress. Because his time was short.


	35. Chapter 35

Clark held me as he flew us to meet Dr. Klein. I raised my voice slightly over the wind noise, although it wasn't necessary to do so for Clark to hear me.

"Clark? I just wanted to say that I think you're very brave."

"I'm not, really, Martha. I'm just scared." Despite his words, his voice was even.

I did think he was brave. If I had found that I carried an explosive device within my body, I would have been knocking down the doors and arranging an immediate removal. But Clark…

"You could have come here earlier."

"No, I couldn't, Martha," Clark said wearily. "Gloria has kryptonite in her building. I can't go inside. I'd never make it up to Bernie's lab." He adjusted his grip on me slightly. "I need you."

Yes. He needed me. He needed me to negotiate with Gloria, to run the kryptonite gauntlet, to engage Bernie's services. Hah - I thought I was done being a lawyer.

"I still can't believe how rude Gloria is being, after everything you've done for her. And everyone else." I threw that out there. Did Clark realize that I feared for him now? Did he know how careful he had to be now?

Clark sighed. "Martha, I'm Kryptonian. That trumps everything else." His voice held only resigned acceptance. I would have resented Gloria – I _did_ resent Gloria. But Clark, I had noticed, was almost superhumanly controlled. Correction – he _was _superhumanly controlled. Or had he given up, did he not care anymore? Sometimes I wondered which.

"Let me see. You saved Miranda's life. You bring Gloria's group necessary items, even though you can't go inside. And I bet you're still delivering the _Daily Planet _here_,_ aren't you?"

"Well, Perry just can't let a subscriber quit," Clark joked.

"After all that, aren't you mad at Gloria?" I asked, curious now.

Clark grimaced. "A little. It's hard to do something for someone, and then you get kicked in the face. Uh, figuratively." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I have to remind myself what the Kryptonians have done on this world. Zod ruined it for the rest of us." He laughed, more normally this time.

"What keeps me from getting mad is that I understand how scared people are. I know I'm not going to hurt them, but they don't." He paused and I could tell that both of us were thinking of when we'd met. "I've come to accept that all I can do is give it time, let people know that I'm trustworthy. I know all the adults at Gloria's, and most of them do like me. They're just nervous. They'll come around. I can be patient."

I didn't say anything. We both knew that some people would never accept him. I had a suspicion that Gloria was one of those people.

Changing the subject, I queried Clark delicately. "OK, you need me. You could have asked me to come earlier."

"No I couldn't," Clark contradicted me again. "Martha, we talked about this. You know that you and Perry go out to lunch with me on Thursday afternoons. That's the only day we spend time together. If I took you somewhere on a different day, it would get back to Lex."

And then Lex would start investigating. He'd find out about the Fortress. And things would go downhill from there. Lex, or more probably, Chloe, would find out about my involvement.

Clark changed his flight angle of attack. Familiarity with his habits let me know he was beginning a leisurely landing.

"Besides, Martha, you and Perry are staying in this world. I'm leaving – at least I hope I am. The other day Perry was talking about what they did to "collaborators" and "traitors to humanity". Clark's voice was bitter. No doubt he knew that Perry and I were considered Kryptonian collaborators, even though Clark was "the good Kryptonian". Our normal activities with Clark could be ignored. But if Lex found out that there was a Fortress and I hadn't reported it to him? If he found out that I was half-owner of the Fortress? Yeah, that would be considered collaboration worthy of the death penalty.

"I won't be here to protect you," Clark went on. "Your only chance is to keep your involvement a secret. When I disappear, Martha, you and Perry will be as astounded as everyone else. Officially."

"So that means you walked around for a week with a bomb in you," I said. Clark had insisted on it. He wouldn't change the schedule if it brought unwelcome attention to Perry and me.

"Yep." Clark's tone told me he didn't want to discuss it further.

"All right. But I still think you're brave."

Clark hovered just a moment, about ten feet above the ground. He met my eyes gravely, and everything we'd been through together flashed between us. "You're braver."

* * *

We landed a block away from Gloria's. As we approached her place, I saw a group of people working in a large garden. The homeliness of it brought tears to my eyes. I hadn't seen an outdoor garden in over three years.

One of the figures saw us approaching. "Clark!" she yelled. She dropped her hoe and ran over to us. She was about to hug Clark when he made a slight withdrawing gesture. She shook his outstretched hand instead.

"Miranda." Clark smiled openly. "I'm glad to see you up and around after your appendectomy."

"Yeah, I'm all healed up!" She met my eyes belatedly. "You must be Martha."

By this time, the others had joined us. There were three adults – Manny, Fred, and Jack (I always wanted to call them Mannie, Moe, and Jack) and several children. I'd met the adults before, but had never seen the children. From their wide eyes, they knew exactly who Clark and I were. I heard some low mumbling in the background.

Manny moved closer, adjusting his grip on his gun significantly. No overt threat – at least yet – just reminding us that he was armed. And probably feeling very outclassed with Clark here. On the other hand, he'd always been friendly to us, and had given us extra tomatoes on more than one occasion.

"Manny," I greeted him.

"Martha." His tone was cool. I remained silent, and he finally added, "What brings you here?"

"Actually, I was hoping to see Dr. Klein," I said honestly.

Manny alternated uncertain looks between Clark and me. Addressing me, he said, "_You_ can come in, but…"

"I'm not welcome?" Clark asked.

Manny looked extremely unhappy. "Yeah." It had never been a good idea to hinder the wishes of a Kryptonian. From the way Manny's hand clenched on the stock of his gun, he was very nervous. His quick glance at the gathered children made me wonder what he thought Clark might do.

"It's not like I didn't hear that before," Clark said dryly. He squinted at Gloria's building. From his tiny grimace, I assumed Gloria had continued to seed the building with kryptonite. He met Manny's eyes. "Will you assure me that Martha will be safe there?"

"I can do that," Manny said, relieved. He quickly turned away so that he didn't have to meet Clark's gaze.

"I'll wait here, then," Clark said, ignoring the way that Fred and Jack stepped up, not-so-coincidentally getting between him and the children. I saw him flinch slightly. Were those guns loaded with kryptonite bullets?

"Can _you _promise me that Clark will be safe here?" I retorted. My eyes had been opened. Now I saw the delicate and painful game that Clark had to play all the time. He could never be free or relaxed with other people, never. The closest he came was with me and Perry. And even Perry still had his doubts. I had no doubts, not anymore. I vowed that from now on, Clark could be himself with me.

"As long as he doesn't try anything," Jack replied. He'd been more of a hard-liner, I recalled. No extra tomatoes from him.

At the edge of the conversation, I saw Miranda vibrating with fury, apparently wanting to jump to Clark's defense, but not daring. I chuckled inside. Clark had at least one supporter in the group.

I caught Clark's exasperated look, but none of the men did. The look said, _If I really wanted to hurt you and the children, it would have happened by now. For the hundredth time, I won't hurt you. I'll humor you. I'll put up with your fear and I won't say or do anything threatening. _ "I come in peace," Clark intoned. "I am here only for Dr. Klein and tomatoes." The joke fell flat. "OK. You'll have nothing to worry about with me."

This seemed to signify a tentative truce. Manny led me inside. My last view was all of the children staring at Clark in fascination.

* * *

I came out, Dr. Klein following me. Clark and Dr. Klein greeted each other cheerfully. Children's laughter rang out, and even Fred and Jack's usually-somber faces wore tiny, reluctant smiles. I was surprised.

I took Clark aside while Dr. Klein spoke with Fred and Jack. "What happened?" I asked. "An application of the famous Kent charm?"

"Well, first I did all the weeding and hoeing at super-speed," Clark said, blushing and ostentatiously ignoring my reference to Kent charm. "That made everybody happy because now everybody has the afternoon off. Then Miranda reminded me that she'd never gotten her flight, and I reminded her that she needed her parents' permission."

Our eyes met, and the thought passed between us. _Not in a million years._

Clark continued. "So I asked Fred and Jack, since they were the adults here, if I could take Miranda for a short flight over the vegetable garden. They said it would be OK. Then all the other kids wanted to fly, because Miranda did." Clark chuckled. "So all the kids got a short flight."

Apparently it had been tremendously exciting for the children, based on their excited chatter.

"I'm surprised Fred and Jack let you do that," I observed noncommittally.

Clark shrugged. "The kids begged them. I guess they thought I was OK, underneath." The simple words concealed great emotion. His voice took on a cynical tone. "Or maybe they were just afraid to say no." Our eyes met. I knew which one I'd bet on. But of course I was a cynical lawyer. "I think it helped when I took the men flying first. Even they had to admit that flying was cool. But what about you? You took awhile. I was getting a little worried."

"I had to convince Gloria, and then I had to roust Bernie out of his lab," I explained. "Gloria didn't really want to hear that a person in a settlement up north needed surgery, and he'd die without it. Bernie is his only option." It was God's honest truth. "But she saw reason in the end."

"Yes, who is it and what kind of surgery is it?" Klein said irritably. "How can I prepare if I don't know anything?"

"Medical privacy, Bernie," I said nervously. I hoped it didn't sound as lame to him as it did to me. "We'll tell you more when we get there." I begged Clark with my eyes, _Get us out of here_. And with that sensitivity that had grown so acute since our episode in the Fortress, he nodded. He made quick work of good-byes to the children, to Miranda, and to Fred, Manny, and Jack. He didn't bother to change into the Suit before taking me in one arm, Bernie in the other, and lifting off.

The last thing I heard was the chorus of _oohs _from the children.

* * *

Clark headed north, the Fortress calling him. He needed no navigational devices to find it. It called to him on a deep level.

Bernie continued his chattering, and Martha continued her patient answers. She'd taken over conversation duty when it became apparent that Clark was in no mood to talk. She pointed out landmarks, and deftly diverted Bernie's attention when they came to the polar ice cap – now much larger than it had been in the previous days of global warming.

Clark flew on, automatically adjusting his grip and extending his aura as needed. He found himself slowing, and forced himself to speed up. He supposed that he dreaded arriving at the Fortress. Once he got there, they'd have to tell Bernie the truth. He and Martha had agreed upon that. But what if Bernie heard the truth and then refused to do the surgery?

They'd argued about whether they should take Bernie to the Fortress or not. Clark had argued for, Martha against. If Bernie refused, she'd said, they could just take him back to Gloria's. Clark had wanted full disclosure, and had prevailed. Let Bernie know all the facts, let him know about the Fortress. He'd felt strongly about this. He had to tell the truth. It was important. If he got caught in a lie, who would ever trust him again? What little trust he had built up in his months on this alternate world would shrivel and die, and Clark would truly be friendless.

But that didn't keep Clark from worrying. _What if he won't do the surgery? What will I do then? Walk around with a bomb in my belly? Who else can I ask? _Certainly no one at Metropolis base. He had a nodding acquaintanceship with everyone there, but none of them would help him with something like this. And he'd worked with the people at the refinery and felt some of them, especially the metahumans, might be receptive to his predicament, but none there had any shred of a medical background.

_Martha will take it out if no one else will. _Clark was certain of that. But he really, _really_ would prefer to have anesthesia, and Klein was the only one he knew of who had a clue about that.

_What if Klein won't take it out, and what if he tells Lex? What if Klein __**does **__take it out and then he tells Lex? _Martha had told him what Chloe had said. The thought that one of his supporters might be wavering was chilling. It was bitter. All of Chloe's loyalty and perseverance was on Lex's side. Chloe wouldn't waver. Clark knew that – it held true for any Chloe, of any world.

Bernie's chatter abruptly cut off as the Fortress became visible in the distance. He stared at it for a minute, then asked curiously, "What's that?"

"Our destination," Clark said roughly. He flew the last few miles very quickly, and landed them at the Fortress entrance.

Bernie looked up in wonder at the crystalline girders. "This is alien, isn't it?" he asked. There was no accusation or fear in his tone – just astonishment and awe.

"Yes, but come in," Martha urged him. The party walked in. Clark concluded that Jor-El had finished growing the portal to the _Daily Planet_.

"Hello, Martha, Clark," Perry said. "And you must be Dr. Klein."

Klein goggled at Perry White's presence. Finding a human in such an alien structure seemed to astound Bernie. Martha said, "Perry, this is Bernie, Dr. Klein. We've mentioned him before. And Bernie, this is Perry White, Editor-In-Chief of the _Daily Planet._"

The two men shook hands. Perry's blasé attitude seemed to calm Bernie somewhat.

"What is this place? It's Kryptonian, isn't it? How did it get here? What are you doing here? Clark, you never told me about anything like this!" Klein paced around, checking into nooks and crannies, looking up at the vaulted ceiling, running his hands over the tubes of the control console. He stopped abruptly as he turned a corner and came across the pile of medical supplies that Clark had gathered. "Who needs surgery?"

Clark took a deep breath. "I do."

Klein stared at him in puzzlement. "You don't look sick."

"I'm not sick. I have… a foreign object in my abdomen. It's an explosive device. A bomb."

"A bomb? In your abdomen? Why in the world did you do that?" Klein seemed honestly puzzled.

Clark sighed. "I didn't do it, Bernie. It was done to me."

Klein grew indignant. "What? That was no ethical surgeon. Didn't they take the Hippocratic Oath?"

"I don't think they were following the oath's precepts," Perry said dryly.

"It's very wrong," Klein huffed. He looked at Clark. "Why did they do that?"

Clark's eyes met Martha's and Perry's with the unspoken thought, _Is he really this clueless?_

"They were worried that I was going to go rogue," Clark said.

"Go rogue?"

Clark levitated slightly. "You know, do something bad with the Kryptonian powers."

Klein looked at Clark, staring intently at the levitation display. "Are you going to do that?"

Clark gave a tiny chuckle. "No, Bernie."

"Well, that's all right then." Klein seemed to accept Clark's word unhesitatingly.

Clark let out a deep breath. Bernie's unquestioning acceptance seemed to be a tremendous relief to him. Most of his tension disappeared. He actually managed to keep his voice from shaking as he asked, "Bernie, I need you to take that thing out of me. Please."

"Where is it?"

"In my abdomen."

"_Where_ in the abdomen?" Bernie asked impatiently. "Do you have any X-rays? MRI? I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."

"Uh, no…" Clark faltered.

Martha stepped in. "We could ask Jor-El." Clark looked at her gratefully. She called out and Clark echoed her. The avatar sprang into being.

"Oh, wow!" Klein said. "A hologram! It's an artificial intelligence, right?"

Jor-El raised his eyebrows. "This is no common human, my son."

Clark decided to step in. "Jor-El, this is Dr. Bernie Klein, my friend. Dr. Klein, this is the AI of my father on Krypton, Jor-El."

Klein looked like a kid who'd just gotten a giant cake and loads of presents for his birthday. "Krypton! Your home planet?" he asked Clark rhetorically. Turning back to Jor-El, he said, "I have so many questions!"

"Welcome, Dr. Klein," Jor-El said graciously.

"Please, call me Bernie." Klein had approached the avatar and looked like he wanted to wave his hand through the figure.

"Thank you, Bernie, for agreeing to assist my son. I look forward to speaking with another scientist – " Bernie looked hopeful. " – after we complete our task regarding Kal-El."

"Kal-El?"

"Uh, that's me, my Kryptonian name," Clark said diffidently.

"Kryptonian name?" Bernie asked, and after a few more questions, Clark and Jor-El launched into the whole long story. Bernie nodded at all the right times, and seemed fascinated at the parts about the spaceship and the alternate worlds. Finally, when they'd answered his last question in what seemed a very long time after they started, he said, "A very interesting invitation." He sounded happy. "Now, I just have a few more questions…"

"Dr. Klein!" Perry broke in. "The issue today is, can you do surgery on Clark?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course. But I wanted some radiographs…"

Martha asked, "Jor-El, what can you do for Bernie?"

Jor-El said nothing, but a stunningly detailed hologram of Clark's interior sprang into view near the command console. Bernie looked at it in absolute lust and murmured, "Fascinating." He walked around the image, visualizing it from every direction.

"Well, Bernie?" Perry probed. "Even I can see that bomb." Indeed, it was obvious, an angular and technological device amidst the soft viscera.

"What? Oh, yes, certainly." Bernie's expression changed, and Clark dared to hope that he was actually thinking about surgery and not about alien technology and the principles behind it. "If I didn't know you were Kryptonian, Clark, I'd never have guessed it from your internal organs. You look human."

Clark didn't know what to say. Martha stepped in. "That's good."

He wondered why he'd never thought about this. He didn't need to eat, at least eat food. He could go days on sunlight alone. Why did he have a stomach? Intestines? What had he expected his insides to be like? Tentacles or something?

"It won't require a lot of surgical expertise, which is good, because you know, I've only done one human surgery…" Bernie trailed off, belatedly realizing that this might not be the most confidence-building thing to say in front of one's patient. "Of course, it's not like I'm a surgery novice, though. A simple abdominal incision, retract the edges, find the device, pull it out. It's not anchored in there, is it?"

Jor-El answered. "My scans show nothing of the kind."

"Does it have any kind of a temperature-sensitive switch, or automatic detonator or anything like that?"

Clark, Martha, and Perry's gazes met, dismay in all three. They'd never considered that. "That would be something Lex would do," Martha muttered.

"I can surround the device with a field which will prevent detonation, should such a circumstance exist." Jor-El stated calmly.

"OK, then." Bernie turned back to the human members of the party. "I see that you've gathered equipment for me?"

Martha led him over to the pile of items. "We weren't sure what you were going to need, so Clark just got everything he thought might be useful."

"Hmm… hmm…" Bernie checked things off against a mental list. "I'll need this, and this, and this…"

* * *

Clark Kent shivered. He wasn't cold, well, not too much, anyway. He shivered from… well, it wasn't really fear. It was apprehension. That was it. He wasn't _afraid._ He was _apprehensive_.

He felt the usual kryptonite-induced nausea and decided that the level was more medium than low, right now. They'd experimented with the proper distance and, for Martha's piece of kryptonite, found that it needed to be within two meters to make Clark vulnerable enough to have an intravenous catheter placed and to have injections. Too bad it made him queasy and weak at the same time.

They'd practiced by having Jor-El illuminate the area between Clark's shoulder blades that contained the GPS transmitter. Bernie had tried to inject Clark with local anesthetic. Martha had moved the kryptonite nearer in small increments. The needle had bent against his skin until finally they'd reached the proper amount of vulnerability. Bernie had then numbed the area. That local anesthetic really stung, Clark thought. Bernie had carved out Clark's locator beacon. Clark was glad he couldn't see the surgery – he'd felt the blood dripping and that was enough. Once the GPS locator was out, Martha had moved the kryptonite farther away, and Clark had healed with his usual speed. Bernie had been agog, fascinated by and envious of Clark's healing ability.

Clark had set up the surgery table, instrument tray, and anesthetic machine in the large open area of the Fortress. Klein had bustled around, demanding a sink with knee controls to the running water so he could scrub in properly. Perry had been roped into service as a scrubbed-in surgery tech (he'd admitted to experience as a medic in the Army, back in the day), and Martha would be the non-sterile circulating nurse. Jor-El provided bright lighting, and what he claimed was a sterilizing field. Bernie had said that Kryptonian sterilizing field or no, he was still scrubbing, because the scrubbing helped him to get his mind in order for the upcoming procedure. Clark wasn't even sure if they needed surgical sterility – certainly he'd never gotten an infection when he'd been injured before – but if it made Bernie happy, well, then…

So now Clark lay on a chilly surgery table, stripped down to his briefs. He probably should have taken those off, too, but with Martha right there… Klein hadn't insisted. Clark was grateful for that.

He was too heavy for the others to lift, so after Klein had adjusted the table to the particular height he wanted for favorable surgeon ergonomics, Clark had clambered onto the table. He would have preferred to levitate, but the presence of the kryptonite nixed that idea. And if they'd taken away the kryptonite, his body would have rejected his intravenous catheter. Clark adjusted his position on the table until Klein was satisfied.

Bernie finished his fussing, and nodded. Martha began to scrub Clark's skin with disinfectant. Clark flinched at the cold. That disinfectant just seemed to leach the heat right from his body. In fact, the surgery table was cold, too, even though he had a surgical drape underneath him. This 'being vulnerable' thing just sucked. He wished he had a pillow. He wished he didn't have to be here, lying on a table of his own free will, waiting to be cut.

Had his father felt like that? Clark wondered. Jonathan Kent had undergone triple bypass surgery, a much riskier surgery than what Clark was facing now. Of course, Jonathan had had a trained surgery team, not a nervous amateur and a pair of unskilled helpers. But, Clark wondered, what had his father felt when they came to wheel him to the operating room, when they had given him the drugs? His father had known – all the Kents had known – that the surgery was risky, that Jonathan might not come out of it the same man, or at all.

Sometimes, Clark thought, it took more courage to stay still and accept what was happening than it did to go out and do something spectacular. He had a new respect for those whose only choice was to endure.

Of course, Clark thought but didn't say to Martha, his father hadn't had to worry about the surgery turning into a dissection. Clark forced himself to put those thoughts in a box and close the box. Never mind that lying on a table and waiting to be cut was one of his deepest fears come to life. A dissection wasn't going to happen. It was going to be a surgical procedure. That was all. He trusted Martha, and, well, he pretty much trusted Perry and Dr. Klein.

Clark wondered if he could have put himself in this position with the old Martha, the Martha that had hated and feared him. He rather thought not.

Martha finished her painstaking scrub. Klein nodded at her. She pulled out a syringe. Clark's eyes darted to it, focused on it. Her eyes met Clark's over her mask. Clark saw compassion.

"Martha…" he murmured, letting her know his fear.

She took his hand in hers, holding the syringe with the other. "Clark. You're going to be OK." She smiled at him. It would have been more reassuring if he hadn't seen the uncertainty.

Something occurred to him and he sat up straight. "Wait!"

"What?"

"Jor-El!" Clark called out. The avatar answered him promptly.

"Yes, my son?"

"I rescind my, uh, statement about not letting Martha do anything with the Fortress without my permission. Let her do what she likes with it." Clark gabbled the words, wanting to get them out. A cold chill knifed through him. What if he died on the table? Not that he expected to, but things didn't always go as planned. Klein, Martha, and Perry wouldn't have been stuck in the Fortress – the portal to the _Daily Planet_ building would presumably stay operative – but what if it didn't? The humans would have been trapped up in the Arctic, unable to leave, unable to call for help, unable to obtain food or water.

Martha shared a look with Perry. Their pale faces told Clark they hadn't thought of this either. Martha recovered first. "And I rescind my statement too, Jor-El. Let Clark do what he wants with the Fortress. Neither of us needs the other's permission anymore."

"Accepted," the avatar intoned.

Clark met Martha's eyes. "We'll still discuss everything first, right?" he asked.

"Right." She gestured him down again. "Anything else I've forgotten?" She re-scrubbed his abdomen.

Clark took a deep breath. "I don't think so." It was time.

Martha uncapped the syringe and inserted the needle into the port of his intravenous fluid line. She met his eyes again. "It'll be over before you know it." She depressed the plunger of the syringe with one hand. Her other hand reached over to take his. Her small hand felt very warm.

He felt odd – dizzy, wobbly. He squeezed Martha's hand gently - always gently. Even halfway anesthetized, Clark remembered to be gentle. Being gentle was ingrained, the fruit of a lifetime's training around fragile humans. The anesthetic began to take effect and Martha's face wavered, her features blurring.

"You'll be OK," she said.

"Yes, I will…" he said sleepily. Martha would protect him. She would care for him. His hand slipped from hers as he murmured, "Mom."

* * *

Clark awoke. He mastered the urge to vomit. The surgery table was hard and uncomfortable as ever. Wincing, he lifted his shoulders enough so that he could check his abdomen. It didn't have the row of skin sutures that he'd expected, the suture line that he'd seen when Miranda had her surgery. Unbroken, unmarred skin met his view.

God, had he gone through all that preparation, all that worry for nothing? Why hadn't Bernie done the surgery? Did he back out at the last minute? What would Clark do now?

A touch on his hand interrupted his ruminations. "How do you feel?" Martha asked.

"OK, I guess." Clark lifted his hand – the IV had been removed, he saw – and pointed to his abdomen. "Didn't Bernie do the surgery?"

Martha smiled. "He did. It went well." She pointed to the instrument tray. Amidst a tangled pile of surgical instruments was a bloodstained device. It was as Jor-El had described it, a chunk of explosive attached to a detonator and a lead cylinder which Clark knew contained kryptonite. "No deadman switch. Lex missed a play there."

Perry strolled up. "You feeling OK, Clark?"

"I guess so." He wasn't really sure how he felt. Belatedly, he noticed the bright lights shining from above. His skin tingled, like it did when he was in the upper atmosphere absorbing solar radiation.

"Damnedest thing I ever saw," Perry said conversationally. "Klein cut you open and took out that thing. Then Jor-El said not to bother closing, that he'd keep you asleep, but to keep you in that column of light. We took away the kryptonite and you healed right up."

Clark met Martha's eyes, and he knew they were both remembering a desperate time when she'd been forced to cut him so they could escape, and how he'd healed then.

"Good thing you're a fast healer," Perry said dryly, "because I wasn't looking forward to helping you with the bedpan."

"Jor-El said to stay here for another five minutes at least," Martha said, putting a hand to his shoulder and gently helping him sit up. She looked at the column of light. "It's like sunlight, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Dr. Klein came around into Clark's field of vision. "Oh, Clark, you're up. Good." He was scribbling notes. "Jor-El gave me the frequencies of the light beam you're in. We should try some frequencies in the red end of the spectrum, see what that does for you. And do you know what kind of radiation the kryptonite emits? Why does it make you vulnerable, anyway? On second thought, the better question would be, why are you normally invulnerable?" He barely looked at Clark as he made more notes.

Clark stared at Klein, meeting the surgeon's gaze as the latter looked up from his notes. Instead of the fear and hostility about his inhuman abilities that Clark usually got, he saw only fascination.

"Perhaps you would indulge me, perform a few experiments?" Klein said, his tone so nakedly covetous that Clark couldn't be offended. Klein saw him as a unique specimen, the research project of a lifetime. At least Bernie hadn't asked him to "undergo" experiments. It was a refreshing change from being seen as the Big Bad Alien. "How fast do you fly? In fact, why do you fly? How do you do it? Martha tells me the ability has just developed – why is that? When did your other abilities come online? Can you use your other abilities while you're flying? Do you need oxygen? You've been in outer space, yes?"

"Just to low Earth orbit, to fix some satellites," Clark mumbled, overwhelmed.

"Fascinating! Did you take a breathing apparatus?"

"No, I held my breath."

"So you don't know if you require oxygen in outer space?" Klein looked disappointed.

"No, Bernie, I have no data," Clark said, getting into the spirit.

"Speaking of outer space," Perry interjected dryly, "that bomb is one thing I'd like to see there instead of here."

"Jor-El said he's blocking radio transmissions," said Martha. She took her hand off Clark's shoulder and moved away, not looking at him. Now that the surgery was over, Clark felt embarrassed to be wearing only briefs in her presence.

"I don't care. Crap happens and things go wrong," Perry said. "I've seen that a million times. Let's not tempt fate. Get that thing out of here." He asked Clark, "Can Jor-El beam it somewhere? Preferably far away?"

Martha answered. "He said he couldn't. The kryptonite makes everything wonky."

Perry stared at Clark. "OK, then. Clark, as soon as your five minutes are up, I want you to take this bomb away." At Clark's instinctive flinch, Perry added, "It's no different - you carried it before."

"But I didn't know it, till the last week."

"And wasn't that week just a little stressful?"

Clark nodded ruefully.

"So all you have to do is take this somewhere and get rid of it. You're done."

Clark nodded again. He stretched – he felt much better. "How about now?"

Bernie bustled over to him and checked his color, his abdomen, and listened to him breathe. Perry came over and gave him a hand in getting up, and stood by as Clark got dressed. Clark wobbled just a bit as he stood, but the stream of artificial sunlight pouring down filled him with new energy.

Clark strode over to the surgery instrument table where the bomb waited. He grimaced at its bloodstained exterior. His blood was red, just like a human's.

"We didn't want to mess with it," Perry explained. "No wiping or rinsing." He joined Clark and pulled out a clean surgery drape. He bundled up the bomb and gave the package to Clark. "Go on. Get it out of here."

It was the not-quite-hidden worry in Perry's voice that got Clark moving. He shot up, flew through the Fortress's protective field, and found himself wondering. He looked up to the sky and smiled as he got an idea.


	36. Chapter 36

Clark returned five minutes later. There was no sign of the green-wrapped explosive device. Instead, he carried some grayish rocks. I sniffed – was that a gunpowder smell?

Clark dumped the rocks onto the surgery tray. "Here, Bernie, a present for you. Moon rocks."

"Ooh…" Bernie goggled, looking like a kid at Christmas. "Where are they from?"

"The Moon."

Bernie persisted. "_Where_ on the Moon?"

"Mare Tranquilitatis."

Perry looked up. "Did you see Armstrong and Aldrin's ship?"

Clark nodded. "The bottom half of the LEM – it's still there."

"You didn't put the bomb there, did you?" I asked. It would be heartbreaking if it exploded and destroyed the evidence that humans had, at one time, aspired to greatness.

"No. I put the bomb a few craters away," Clark answered patiently.

"Good. Now let's get to that download," Perry said, dismissing the Moon.

"What?"

"Way back at the beginning, Jor-El said that, to make use of the Fortress, you and Martha had to have a download."

"I'd almost forgotten," I muttered. "What with one thing and another…"

"Yeah," Clark agreed.

'Let's get to it," Perry said briskly. "Can you call up Jor-El and get things going?"

"With Bernie here?" I felt a rush of embarrassment.

"Especially with Bernie here," Perry said. I noticed he was worried. "And Martha goes first."

"Why?" Clark asked evenly.

Perry gave him another one of those straight-on looks. "As I recall, when this whole thing started, Jor-El informed us that your destiny was to rule the Earth."

Clark cast an anxious glance at Bernie, who seemed engrossed in the moon rocks. Then he met Perry's gaze squarely. "And you'll also recall that I denied that. Emphatically."

"Martha goes first, and I want an independent observer to see if…"

"If I've changed?"

"Just saying."

Clark said slowly, "And if Martha goes first, and she knows how to use the Fortress, and then I go, and if _I _get brainwashed, hopefully she can take me down." He smiled. "Good thinking, Perry."

"You're not insulted?" Perry asked cautiously.

"No. I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it, actually." Clark shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. Then Perry gave me a look. I called out for Jor-El and the avatar appeared.

Jor-El was perfectly happy to arrange the download – he'd had it ready right from the beginning. It was Klein, actually, who delayed matters. We'd had to explain the whole thing, and Bernie got tremendously excited at the thought of a direct knowledge dump and the implications. He pelted Jor-El with questions, until even the avatar's machine-created patience began to fray at the edges. Clark just looked on, not even bothering to hide his smile.

Perry finally succeeded in silencing Bernie – how, I don't know. I'd have to ask him later. I met Jor-El's eyes. Strangely enough, they seemed kindly. In a sudden flashback, I couldn't help but contrast them with Zod's dead, soulless gaze.

"Martha Kent, are you ready to receive the instruction which will acquaint you with the capabilities and controls of this Fortress?" the avatar asked formally.

"I am." I felt the weight of responsibility settle on me. Up to this point I'd been a dilettante – sure, the avatar would talk to me, but did I know what to do? I had power, supposedly, but I didn't know how to use it. Now I would.

"Jor-El, this will not hurt Martha, will it?" Clark asked.

"I assure you, my son, the download has been modified for humans. Martha Kent will be unharmed."

"Well, then." I think Perry muttered that.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"You have but to stand here," Jor-El said, indicating a spot near the control console, a circular patch on the floor starting to glow. "I will monitor you throughout."

I shrugged and stepped forward. Perry caught me. "Just in case," he said roughly. He gathered me close to him and kissed me, thoroughly and intensely. I felt dazed when he let me up.

Clark was waiting to shake my hand, a smile on his face. "You'll be fine." Unlike the last time we'd faced a Jor-El "procedure", this time Clark was confident.

Bernie waited at the edges, looking a little lost, left out of our threesome. I went to him, and clasped his hand in mine. "Bernie, I want to thank you for everything."

He perked up. "Martha, what an opportunity! You have to let me know all about it when you're done." He looked like he was about to spout into another fountain of questions when Perry cleared his throat meaningfully. "Oh. Uh, you're welcome."

I gave Perry one last hug, then went to stand in the illuminated circle. "Jor-El, I'm ready." A beam of light enfolded me and everything changed.

The first thing was words – I felt the Kryptonian words nestle sideways, next to their English counterparts. The flow came slowly, and an overwhelming presence asked me with every word (or so it seemed) _Do you understand this? Does this make sense? _ Understanding would come, I would agree, and we would move on. The flow became faster. Ideas, concepts, things moved in for which there were no human equivalents. Still, the foundation had been built, and the presence guided me through. _See, this is how it goes. This is what it means. This is how you do it. _

My mind stretched, my thoughts flew in unaccustomed ways. My head ached and then the pain was soothed away. I could almost _feel _new pathways being formed, new bridges building. The flow became a deluge. I stood up to it, cataloging the information, putting each bit in its proper place, erecting an edifice of new knowledge. Kryptonian language, Kryptonian law, Kryptonian history, Kryptonian science, the paths of knowing that had led to this Fortress, the tender balances that must be preserved, the delicate acts here that would cause gargantuan changes there – all came to me, all with Jor-El guiding me, supporting me, constantly asking, _Are you all right? Can you learn more? _And I would say yes.

It seemed to last years, that time when I learned. Later, Perry told me it had taken less than five minutes. The deluge turned into a Niagara, and I knew there was much more. And yet, if I tried to take it in, I would be washed away. I remembered Clark saying that, in his world, with his Fortress, another man had tried the download and had ended up in a coma. I knew why. He hadn't been able to stop the information, stop the flow. He'd been eroded away, erased by the hammering flood of information.

I told the presence, _I must stop_. The flow diminished to a tiny drizzle. Jor-El held me up while he tidied away the last few bits. I opened my eyes.

Outwardly the Fortress had not changed, nor had the men anxiously awaiting me. I stepped forward and hugged Perry. "I'm OK," I whispered. Perry's fervent hug made it clear he'd been worried.

"Are you all right?" Clark asked. He looked even more worried than Perry.

_"I greet you, Kal-El,"_ I said. I spoke in Kryptonian. It felt natural. He grinned.

_"I greet you, Honored One," _Clark replied, also in Kryptonian. _"Tell me, I beg you, of the things that happened." _

Kryptonian seemed to be a more formal language than English. _"Your esteemed father guided me safely. I know there is more to learn, but alas! My humanity denied me. You must learn what I cannot."_

_ "Honored One, I hear and obey." _Was there a twinkle in Clark's eye? I resolved to treat that as a social formality – Clark obeyed me only when he wanted to, the rat.

Perry figured it out. "I assume you two are speaking Kryptonian."

I turned to him, eyes sparkling. "Yes!"

"Did you learn anything about the Fortress?"

"Yes!"

"Well… a demo?"

"Clark, would you mind being the guinea pig?" I asked. "Nothing too serious."

Clark raised an eyebrow, then nodded.

I touched the control console, knowing exactly where to go and what to do. Another beam of light speared down, this time illuminating Clark.

"This is it?" Clark asked.

"Come over here," I said sweetly.

"OK." Clark stepped – and he stayed exactly within the confines of the beam. "Hey!"

"Imprisoning field," I said cheerily.

"I know a few people who could benefit from that," Perry muttered.

"Martha?" Clark called.

Klein came nosing around. "Very interesting! Can you reach out, Clark?"

Clark couldn't.

"Can I reach in?" Bernie stuck his fingers in the light beam and touched Clark's arm. "I guess I can." He stared at the field. "I wonder how this works."

"It's an application of – " and here I came to a halt, realizing that the explanation depended on one of those Kryptonian concepts for which there was no English equivalent. At least not yet.

"Clark, now I want you to get out," I told him. "Use all your strength."

Clark raised another eyebrow at this, but complied. He battered himself against the walls of the restraining field. I seemed to enjoy some near-telepathic connection with the Fortress, for I could feel the field weakening as Clark redoubled his efforts. If I fed more power to the field, I knew Clark would not be able to overcome it. But, curious, I let Clark batter it down.

"Interesting," Clark said, once he had won free. I saw he was breathing heavily and was actually sweating.

"Intruder control," I explained.

"But Clark could get out of it," Perry interjected.

"If I'd given the field more power, even Clark couldn't have gotten out."

"Did you do this with your Fortress in the other world, Clark?" asked Perry.

"No. I never really learned how to use it." Clark said ruefully. "I certainly don't want to repeat that mistake here." He stepped up to where I had been standing and said, "Jor-El, I'm ready."

Jor-El didn't waste time; the beam came down and encompassed Clark immediately. We waited, and I observed with interest. Had my face showed such expressions? Had my features been obscured by the light? Bernie tried to ask questions but I ignored him, and Perry followed my lead.

The light beam switched off, and Clark staggered. He met my eyes and smiled – I knew exactly why. The light of knowledge shone in his eyes too. I knew he wanted to try things out.

_"Don't repeat my little experiment," _I told him, speaking in Kryptonian just because I could. And because the thought of once again being imprisoned in the Fortress brought up very bad memories.

Clark's smile faded. He knew why I said that. _"No, Honored One,"_ he replied. _"We will work together to fulfill our goals." _

"Hey, speak English, OK?" Perry was annoyed.

"Right." I came over and took his hand, enjoying the feel of human contact, enjoying it more because it was Perry.

"What's happening?" Bernie asked plaintively. Just standing around and watching without understanding was killing him, I could tell.

Clark took pity on him. "Martha and I have become… familiarized with this structure, and now have the knowledge of what the Fortress can do and how to use it."

"Ah!" That struck Bernie speechless. He looked up at the vaulted beams, the crystalline girders, the alien setting. Before he could gather himself, Perry stepped in.

"So what are you going to do now?" That was Perry, always practical.

"Well, our basic goals were…"

I interrupted what was going to be Clark's long-winded explanation. "Just a minute. This calls for lunch. We never got any lunch."

Perry smiled. "I'm always in favor of lunch."

"Let me try something new…" I fiddled with the control console. The very first time we'd come to the Fortress, we'd asked Jor-El for a table. As I gained familiarity with the controls, I made some choices. Food, drink, dishes, tableware – they all sprang into being on the tabletop.

"Whoa!" Perry exclaimed. Clark didn't say anything, but lifted a hand in a salute.

"How did you do that?" Bernie said, going up to the table and lifting a bottle of wine. "This is amazing!"

"Matter replicators," I said. "They can duplicate what we've brought into the Fortress. They can't create living things, though." I shooed everyone over to the table. "Bon appetit."

We sat down, and after a slight initial uncertainty, everyone dug in. Bernie couldn't stop running his finger over the flatware, and sniffing the cheese. He opened his mouth, and I knew we were in for another flurry of questions. I headed him off.

"So, Perry, in answer to your question, our basic goals were to get Clark home."

"And restore the Earth," Clark said stubbornly.

"Get Clark home? Back to Krypton?" Bernie asked. "Does this Fortress have interstellar capability?" He goggled again.

"No." Clark was curt.

"Krypton was destroyed," I explained to Bernie. I'd seen it in the download. Seeing the death of an entire planet was a sorrow almost too great to be borne. I wondered how Clark felt about it.

"Destroyed? How did that happen?" Bernie just _could not_ stop asking questions.

"It's a long story." Unspoken in Clark's phrase was the addendum, _that I don't want to talk about._ His frown made that clear.

"OK, then." Bernie could take a hint, if you pounded it in with a mallet. "What do you mean, get Clark home?"

Clark sighed. "I was sent to Earth as a baby, before Krypton's destruction…" he went into the whole long and convoluted series of events. Bernie had heard it once already, but he seemed to want to hear it again. He had a whole series of new questions all ready to go.

I'd heard this story before. Perry and I played a little footsie and drank some wine. I found myself thinking of spending the night at Perry's again. Hmm, maybe we could take the wine along.

"So, you're from an alternate world?" Bernie looked even more fascinated, if such a thing were possible. "I'm a little shaky on quantum theory. I always thought the "many worlds" hypothesis had some serious flaws. I guess I'll have to go back and re-read the literature…" Bernie trailed off, lost in thought.

"Don't you think we should ask Jor-El?" Perry suggested, suddenly sitting up straight. I mourned the loss of our surreptitious contact.

"Good idea," Clark and I said simultaneously. We laughed nervously.

"Clark, you want to do the honors?" I asked.

Clark nodded, closed his eyes. I assumed he was making the mental adjustment that would "call" Jor-El, and the sudden presence of the avatar at our lunch table confirmed my assumption.

Perry began, when neither Clark nor I showed any inclination to start. "Jor-El, how can Clark get home?"

"By home, I assume you mean the alternate Earth whence he came, Perry White," the avatar said formally.

"Yes."

"This Fortress possesses the capability to open a gate between universes," Jor-El began. "It is an energy-intensive process. Fortunately, a direct tap of the solar mass will supply needed energy. As to the details…" Jor-El switched to Kryptonian. I followed the words but couldn't understand the meaning. Either I had missed some necessary concepts when I had to terminate the download, or my sketchy science education (or lack thereof) hadn't included those concepts _before_ I had the download.

Clark, however, seemed to have no trouble following the conversation, and by listening to his frequent questions, I slowly understood one of the drawbacks. Actually, it was a huge drawback. The Fortress didn't know _which_ alternate Earth Clark came from. Considering there were an infinity of possible worlds, this was more than a little disconcerting. And the avatar didn't seem to have any idea how to solve the problem.

Clark's conversation with Jor-El grew more frustrated, and finally Clark gave up and silenced the avatar with a wave of his hand.

"What?" Perry asked. He'd grown bored at the long conversation conducted in Kryptonian.

"I could go to another world, but Jor-El isn't sure he'd send me to the right world," Clark explained glumly.

"Why not?" Bernie piped up.

"I didn't understand everything," I began, "but what I got is that it's a "music of the spheres" thing. In this universe, Clark is very slightly off-key. But Jor-El doesn't know how to find Clark's home universe - the world where Clark is in tune. And we don't know how to tell him how to find it."

"That's very interesting," Klein burbled, oblivious to Clark's disappointment. "How'd you get here, then?"

"The Fortress in my world sent me."

"Hmm… doesn't seem to be information transfer between universes… on the other hand, you're here, Clark, and you are certainly information." Bernie unconsciously rubbed his head. He began muttering to himself.

As Bernie nattered on, inspiration struck. "Clark."

"Yes."

"Jor-El can do all this stuff – if we tell him to."

"Yes."

"But Jor-El is an artificial intelligence. A machine, basically."

"Yes."

"Machines are not known for independent thought."

"True." Clark began to get an inkling where I was going.

"Bernie is an idea guy. Give him the download and let him tussle it out with Jor-El."

Clark's immediate "That's crazy!" was drowned out by Bernie's sudden silence and then outright begging.

"Can you do that? That would be great. Jor-El, you said he was a scientist on Krypton? I'd love to talk with him, get his take on basic theory, applications, technology, you know." Bernie was almost shaking with the force of his wanting.

Perry grinned. "Why not?"

"Because it's not safe. " Clark spouted the words automatically.

I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe with _your_ Fortress, on _your _world, it's not safe. But this is _my_ Fortress." I backtracked a bit when Clark cleared his throat. "Well, it's _our_ Fortress. So why not give Bernie the download? I've shown that humans can take it. It's safe."

"But…"

"Because you're used to keeping the alien thing a secret? Well, buster, this secret is blown already. And even if people don't know about the Fortress, they know you're an alien."

"Unfortunately, yes. But…"

"Because it's _your_ Fortress? Well, it's mine, too."

"Excellent point," Perry said, grinning.

"Bernie wouldn't be a controller of the Fortress. He'd just get Kryptonian and the basics, so he could talk to Jor-El."

I could see Clark weakening.

"Besides, do you have any better ideas? There's probably not another guy on Earth right now with Bernie's qualifications. Clark, I think he can help you get home."

Clark gave in. "It's crazy. But when you put it that way, it makes sense. But one other thing."

"Yes?"

"Perry gets the download too."

"What?" Perry and I exclaimed simultaneously.

Now it was Clark's turn to grin. "It's hardly fair to give it to one and not the other, is it? Besides, all kidding aside, I think we might end up needing someone to rein us in and force us to meet deadline. Perry's good at that. If he can handle the _Daily Planet _staff, then he can handle a space alien – two space aliens if you count Jor-El, a mad scientist, and a crazy lawyer."

"I am _not_ crazy!"

Perry gathered me in and hugged me. "Yes, you are, but in a good way." He leaned down to kiss me.

"I'm not," I repeated weakly. But only Perry heard me.

"So, Clark, you think we're going to have a deadline?" Perry asked.

"What do you think, Perry?" Clark asked rhetorically. "You know Lex is keeping an eye on me. How long do you think it'll take him to find out about this place?" He gestured at the crystalline beams, once alien, now familiar. "In fact, Bernie, you've got to give me your word not to talk to anyone about this."

"Why?"

I rolled my eyes discreetly at Bernie's naivete. Of course, he didn't know the whole story. He'd led a sheltered life. "Because it could – it would – get us all killed."

"Why?"

"I'll explain it later," Perry said, exasperated. If you were holding a contest to determine the Anti-Machiavelli, Bernie Klein would win. He was the most clueless man regarding politics that I'd ever met. And he was pretty clueless on interpersonal relationships, too. But he was nice. He had that going for him.

"So, Bernie, will you promise not to talk about the Fortress and what happened here to anyone? Except for me, Martha, and Perry, of course."

Bernie got a stubborn look. "If I get the download."

Perry began chuckling. "Is that blackmail?"

"Yes! No! No, it's not blackmail," Bernie said. "It's… it's a surgeon's fee."

I looked at Clark. He sighed and nodded. "He's got a point there."

"OK, Bernie. Just give us a minute to talk with Jor-El." Clark and I lowered our voices and spoke with the avatar. Jor-El confirmed my guess that Bernie would not be an authorized user of the Fortress, but that he could be given the Kryptonian language and much of the knowledge.

"OK. Stand right here." Clark pointed the spot to Bernie. Bernie, to his credit, didn't hesitate a moment. He stood where Clark indicated and stayed still as Clark told Jor-El to begin.

This download seemed to take longer, and I saw Perry looking at his watch. "Is it me or is this taking longer?"

"It's not you," Perry said. "It's probably been ten minutes. You and Clark each took less than five."

At that moment, the light switched off, and Bernie staggered slightly. Clark was there to support him. "Oh, wow," Bernie said, in a dazed tone.

"Bernie? You OK?" Clark asked, gently guiding Klein to a chair."

"Yes… just thinking."

Clark raised an eyebrow but let Bernie sit back.

"I had not expected to find a human of such breadth of intellect," Jor-El observed. "Indeed, I shall enjoy talking with Dr. Klein."

"Glad to hear that," I muttered.

"OK, Perry, time for you." Clark affected a false jollity.

"Come on. I thought you were kidding."

"No, I'm serious. Dead serious. And something else."

"What?"

"I want you to be the backup Fortress controller if Martha and I are both dead or incapacitated."

Why hadn't I thought of that? It made total sense. "Yeah."

"You're pretty hard to kill, Clark," Perry said. He made no mention of me. Humans had been shown to be easy to kill. We'd died in the billions over the last three years.

"Things happen," Clark replied. "And, if Martha and I are both gone, then what's going to happen with the Fortress? Will Jor-El take it on himself to fulfill "Kal-El's mission"? Rule the Earth? You know that's what he's thinking of. Perry, if you're in charge, I know things will be OK."

Perry flushed. "You're putting a lot of confidence in me, Clark." I knew what Perry felt. The responsibility, the weight of that power… it was a heavy burden.

"You've trusted me. I trust you."

Perry nodded. "Don't make me have to step in."

"I'll try not to."

Clark and I had another quick conversation with the avatar, and confirmed that Perry could indeed be our backup.

Perry didn't go to the download with eagerness as Bernie had; instead, he went to the spot as if he were a condemned man taking that last lonely walk down the corridor the electric chair. But in the end, he agreed, and the light washed over him.

It took only three minutes, by my count, before the light went away and Perry stood there, his brain full of Kryptonian knowledge. "I think I got less of that than you did," Perry said, trying and failing to reach his usual cheerful cynicism.

"It didn't take as long as I expected," I said cautiously.

"I'm a reporter. I know a little bit about a lot, and a lot about very little. I'm no Dr. Klein."

I hugged him. "I don't want you to be Dr. Klein. I want you to be Perry White."

I saw him push away the somberness of the burden he'd accepted. "Well, today's my lucky day, then." He laughed, leaned over, and kissed me.

We gathered once again at the table. Perry and Klein both had the inward look – I'd had it too, right after the download. You were getting used to what had been put in your head.

I started. "OK. This is the meeting for Operation Get Clark Home."

"Whoa, whoa, wait just a minute." Clark half stood up in his chair. "I think you've forgotten something. I'm flattered, but this should be the meeting for Operation Restore the Earth." He met my eyes squarely. "I'm not leaving till I do something to help."

How had I forgotten? Maybe because everything had gone so smoothly so far, I didn't want to think about the mostly-dead and blasted Earth. "Oh. Yes."

"Restore the Earth?" Perry asked cautiously.

"Here's something I've wanted to ask for a long time. Jor-El!" Clark called the avatar. Unconsciously, we'd left a place for the hologram at our table.

I felt like Jor-El should answer "You rang?" as he materialized, but instead, the avatar merely inclined his head and said, "Yes, Kal-El?"

"How many people are left on Earth?"

Jor-El raised a hand, and a hologram of our planet sprang into being. Tiny lights dotted the continents, with the major concentration in North and Central America. Every continent, though, had at least one or two lights on it. "As depicted on this representation, the current human population of this planet is fifty-one thousand, four hundred and forty-seven."

I gasped. I knew billions had died, but I didn't know our numbers were that low. Perry shot me a grim look as Clark went on.

"How many species became extinct since Zod's arrival?"

The holographic Earth remained spinning on its axis as Jor-El considered. "The number is variable depending on taxonomic definition."

"Please clarify."

"Results are regarding the plant and animal kingdoms only. Monerans, fungi, and protozoans were not strictly catalogued."

"That will suffice," Clark said. He met my eyes and added sardonically, "I don't think we have to discuss which bacteria got wiped out."

"Based on the most currently accepted taxonomic classifications, fifty-seven phyla, one hundred eighty-nine classes, and nine hundred sixty-one orders have become extinct."

Klein's indrawn gasp told me Jor-El's statement had great significance. "What?" I asked.

"Taxonomically speaking, Martha, phyla, classes, and orders are big groups," Bernie explained. "For example, in the Phylum Chordata, which includes us as vertebrates – animals with a backbone – " Klein added, "there's the Class Mammalia. Mammals. If an entire class disappeared, that means all the orders, families, genera, and species in it became extinct, too. There are, well, there were, probably eight thousand species of mammals."

"So, if sixty-seven classes went extinct, and they all had eight thousand species in them…" I tried to do the math in my head.

"Not every class will have eight thousand species," Klein said. Some classes only have a few."

"Or a lot more," Clark said grimly. "I haven't heard any frogs in all the time I've been traveling around. What if amphibians are extinct? How many species of frogs and toads were there?"

My heart plummeted. Somehow, the lack of spring peepers and croaking bullfrogs meant much more to me than dry recitations of taxonomic losses.

"And large animals. Elephants, rhinos, tigers – they were in trouble even before Zod came. None of them made it through. We're lucky to have some sheep and goats left."

"We've still got rats," Perry said sarcastically. "And cockroaches."

Clark nodded cheerlessly. "I've been thinking a lot about this. All of us – we all knew what Earth was like, before. But the kids – they'll grow up in a world with nothing. Almost everything has been killed off." His voice grew hard. "That's unacceptable."

"So what do you plan on doing about it?" Perry challenged.

"At first, I thought there was nothing I could do. Then, when we got the Fortress up, I realized change was possible."

"Don't tell me you're going to go back in time and prevent the whole episode."

Clark had an odd look on his face. "I'm sorry. No."

I knew why. I knew this Fortress probably had contained one "go back in time" crystal. But Brainiac had used it to go back to Krypton, in his attempt to keep baby Clark from leaving Krypton and coming to Earth.

I hoped that Perry and Bernie didn't get the knowledge that time travel – at least once – was possible, given the Fortress's capabilities. I hoped they'd overlook the fact that Clark had refused, rather than saying time travel was impossible. They'd want to use it, and who knew what could happen? The deaths of seven billion could not be so lightly overturned.

"No," Clark repeated. "We have to go forward. We have to rebuild."

"With what?" Perry challenged him again. "I don't see much here." His skeptical gaze took in the stark crystal architecture of the Fortress, our human-derived table and chairs only emphasizing its alienness.

"We can go to alternate worlds." Clark said it softly. "An infinity of alternate worlds."

Bernie got it first. "But can we bring stuff back with us?"

"I think we can," Clark said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"What?" I asked, confused.

Bernie got there first again. "We're going to steal things."

"Not stealing," Clark said reprovingly. "Exchange." He smiled. "Jor-El will open a gate to an alternate world. We'll figure out some way to trade our bit of Planet Earth for theirs."

"This would be a world without humans?"

"Worlds, Perry, worlds. We'd look for a world without humans but fairly comparable, exchange a small amount of ours with theirs, and move on to the next world. Repeat as needed."

"Spread our trash all over the neighborhood?"

"I prefer to see it as limiting the damage to any particular world. Drop in one tiny section of, oh, burned-out territory – " I immediately thought of the heat-fused, glassy moonscape of what had once been the Kent Farm as Clark went on – "into, say, the Great Plains of an alternate North America, and let Mother Nature and Father Time do their work."

"And then we bring back that same section from another world, a world that never had humans or aliens, um, disturb it." I got what Clark was aiming at.

"So if we use a lot of different worlds… hmm. Each alternate world only exchanges with a little bit of our damaged world. We repair our own world by stealing a tiny bit from a lot of other places. All those tiny bits add up and our world's damaged territory is replaced by pre-human landscape."

"You've got it, Perry."

Perry whistled. "You don't think small, Clark."

"I can't afford to, Perry."

"Restoring the Earth, a piece at a time… it's a laudable objective. It's a goal worthy of this Fortress." Perry actually sounded awed.

"I can't do it without you, Perry. Without all of you." Clark gestured to include Bernie and me.

Perry swallowed. "Well, since it's my job to keep us on deadline, I'll start by asking those newspaper questions. How are we going to do it? When?" He chuckled. "I guess we have the who, where, and why already covered."

"Yes," said Clark. "We've got a lot of planning to do."


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's note: Once again, I'd like to extend my sincere thanks to my betas, Leela and Artemis. Their hard work has made this a much better fic. **

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* * *

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_(Our heroes work on their plan to restore the Earth that was ruined by the invading Kryptonians.) _

By the time we left the Fortress in the late evening, we'd settled on a plan of attack. Jor-El had confirmed that our plan was possible, in theory at least.

The first part would be Dr. Klein's. Bernie would come up with an experimental protocol to investigate alternate worlds, how easy it would be to get to them, how comparable they were to our own, how "close" they would be if no humans, or other intelligent life, had ever evolved on them, how we could categorize and locate these worlds again if we needed to.

Clark and I had set up a portal so that Bernie could visit the Fortress as he wished. The portal led to a secluded area in the town in Kansas, a few blocks away from Gloria's colony. Klein would be able to walk there, insert his "key" (I saw Clark looking at the metallic octagon with a strange expression), and he'd be whisked instantly to the Fortress. There, he could talk and plan with Jor-El at his leisure.

Nothing would be done, however, until Bernie and Jor-El ran the plans by Clark, Perry, and me. We'd authorize testing – and I personally meant to hold back on any risky experiments until Clark, as the only full Kryptonian (aside from Jor-El, and since he was an AI and not truly alive, he didn't really count), could examine the theoretical basis. Clark wasn't an idea guy like Bernie, but, since he'd had the full download, he would be much more capable of understanding the theory than I would.

Meanwhile, Perry and I would go back to Metropolis, and act normally. We'd try to delay Lex's suspicions as long as possible. This meant that we could only formally meet with Clark on Thursdays for our long-standing lunch appointment.

And Clark, for his part, would continue his usual tasks of delivering the _Daily Planet_ to pretty much all the settlements in North America, cleaning up rivers and roads, doing maintenance on bridges and other infrastructure, helping with undersea and on-the-shore needs at the refinery, being quick transport for people who had an overwhelming need to be elsewhere in a hurry, plowing fields and planting crops, scavenging needed items, keeping the telecommunication satellites in order, etc. Lex was keeping him busy.

We ended by all of us clasping hands (except for Jor-El. He was insubstantial) and swearing secrecy. I still worried about Bernie. He was a guy who would blurt out anything. I mentally advanced our deadline – we couldn't count on Bernie keeping a secret for long. Then it would get to Gloria, and… did she have a conduit to Lex? I'd always thought her a very solitary and self-sufficient leader. But I didn't know. I wasn't sure.

The pressure was on. We had to solve the problem soon, or we'd be found out. And whatever happened then wouldn't be good. As we exited the Fortress, I reminded everybody one last time. "Remember, this has got to stay a secret."

* * *

The secret lasted two days. Martha wasn't at the base this morning; it was one of her Metropolis days. She had spent the night with Perry. Their romance had been heating up to the point where they were a known item and were being gossiped about.

It was early morning, and Clark sat in Lex's office, with Lex, Clark, and Chloe going over Clark's planned work for the next few days. The meeting was mostly done when Clark heard a buzzing. He carefully looked around, wondering what was making the sound and also wondering if Lex and Chloe could hear it. There were a lot of things Clark heard that nobody else did. He had learned, way back in his own world, not to mention those things.

Clark got up and poured himself a glass of water, hiding his sudden preoccupation. Lex always made him cautious. Clark never wanted to act differently in any way around Lex. It was all the more imperative now that Clark had such a big secret to keep. His lack of attention did not go unnoticed.

"Clark? Are you OK?" Chloe asked.

"Fine," Clark said, smiling falsely. "I just wanted some water."

The buzz turned into Jor-El's voice and Clark abruptly realized he wasn't hearing with his ears. Jor-El was sending a message directly to his brain.

"Kal-El, come to the Fortress immediately." That was it. No explanation. No repetition. Just "come to the Fortress immediately".

Clark tried his hardest to hide his surprise. Telepathic messages were definitely not in the playbook. He set down the glass. "Well, Chloe, Lex, there's plenty of work to be done, so I'll be on my way."

"Right now?" Lex queried him. Clark supposed Lex had a point. He usually stayed and chatted with Lex and Chloe for a few minutes after they had finished discussing the upcoming business.

"I still have to do my paper route." Clark smiled.

Chloe chuckled. "Only you would call a continent-wide newspaper delivery service a _paper route._"

Clark returned her smile, itching to get out. "Just doing my bit to keep up the circulation of the _Daily Planet._" He waved. "Bye." Before Lex or Chloe could tease him any more about being a reporter and a delivery boy too, Clark left the room.

He walked through the halls of Metropolis base as quickly as humanly possible, Jor-El's message ringing through his mind. He wanted to speed, but that might cause injury to the people he passed in the halls. He waved and nodded as he went by, trying to act normally. Clark made a very quick good-bye to the gate guard, and automatically changed into the spandex. He lifted off as soon as he'd changed, climbing to a high altitude, and then speared down again, heading to the Fortress.

All was chaos when he arrived. A miniature blizzard raged in one corner of the Fortress. Bernie Klein danced ineffectually out of its range, speaking to Jor-El and Jor-El answering.

"You've got to stop."

"I cannot. Only Kal-El or Martha Kent can halt this."

"Did you contact Kal-El?" Bernie hopped from one foot to the other. He wrapped his arms around himself and Clark realized it was very cold.

Clark's greeting drowned out Jor-El's reply. "Bernie. What's going on?" The whistling of the wind made it hard for Bernie to hear him. Clark had to come up and put his hand on Klein's shoulder and repeat his words, calming Bernie.

Bernie's face crumpled in relief. "Clark! Thank God! You're here!"

"Yes, I'm here. What is it?"

Klein gestured toward the miniature blizzard. Clark peered more closely, getting a bad feeling. Hadn't something like this happened in his own world, in his own Fortress? A shock ran through him. His forebodings were real. Behind the wall of wind-whipped snow and searing cold lay an unmoving figure, encased in ice.

"Jor-El! Stop this!"

"It is the intruder control system," Jor-El replied. Was there a note of regret in the AI's voice? "It is part of the automatic protections of the Fortress."

"Disable intruder control," Clark snapped.

The wailing wind stopped abruptly. A few flakes of snow flittered down to add to the icy coating of the intruder.

Clark strode forward, bending over to pick up the small body. He engaged his heat vision to melt the rime that covered the face, and breathed in sharply. He knew that face.

"Miranda? What's she doing here?" Clark asked Klein abruptly. The teenage girl from Gloria's colony was so cold… Clark set her down and bathed her in heat vision, melting away her icy shell. God, she was cold and stiff – was she dead?

"She must have followed me when I went to the portal outlet," Bernie stammered. "I was here talking with Jor-El. All of a sudden I heard her call my name, and then a blizzard started. I should have realized…ever since the surgery she's been following me around..." Bernie continued to berate himself in a low voice.

Clark hardly heard him as he scanned Miranda frantically. He stared past her clothing, focused on her heart. After an incredibly long five seconds, the heart convulsed and gave one beat.

"She's alive!" Clark swung her up and held her to his body to give her some body heat.

"I tried asking Jor-El to let her go, to turn it off, but he said he couldn't do that. He said only you or Martha could do that. I asked if he could call you and he said he would. But he wouldn't stop freezing her."

The avatar stood off to one side, almost apologetic. "In some respects, my programming dictates my actions," it said diffidently.

Clark hardly heard the byplay. He ignored Bernie's plaintive details of everything he'd tried to get Jor-El to stop. Clark felt Miranda, and laid her on the table to apply more heat. He scanned her again with his deep vision and groaned. She was a block of ice, literally. Clark saw the ice crystals in her cells. Her legs and arms had frozen, as had much of her face. The fluid in her eyes had frozen, leaving her wide pupils fixed in a permanent expression of surprise. Only her torso retained the merest tinge of body heat. As Clark looked, her heart labored and gave another despairing beat.

Clark despaired too. How could Miranda recover from this? An appendectomy was one thing. Frostbite to this extent was another. She would lose her arms and legs, be blind, would have horrendous facial scarring. The extent of brain damage was unknown. Even defrosting Miranda with his heat vision couldn't cure the cellular disruption.

Clark swore to himself, bitterly. He'd promised so blithely that he wouldn't hurt anyone, and that he would never kill. And here his Fortress had done just that. Miranda was hanging on to life by a thread. He had to try and save her… but would she have a life afterwards? Unless… unless…

"Jor-El!" Clark snapped.

"Yes, Kal-El?" The avatar was eternally patient.

"This girl is seriously injured. Does the Fortress have healing capability?" It was worth a try.

"Yes, Kal-El."

Clark felt his heart leap. Miranda had a chance. "How can I – "

The avatar gestured, and a palanquin-like platform arose on the other side of the control console. "Place her on the platform."

Clark wasted no time in doing so. He stepped back, Klein next to him, both of them concerned. Miranda looked like some ethereal Snow White, trapped in a frozen sleep. Except… was her heart still beating?

"Jor-El!" Clark cried, panicked. "Get started."

Another one of the ubiquitous light beams bathed Miranda. Its brightness made Bernie look away. Clark, not bothered by the luminosity, went to the deep vision. The ice burns on Miranda's skin disappeared. Clark focused in further, magnifying his view. Fascinated, he watched as the Kryptonian technology literally repaired Miranda cell by cell.

A rustle next to him distracted him. "Clark? How is she doing?" Klein asked hesitantly.

"She's going to be OK, Bernie," Clark reassured him.

Bernie sighed in relief. "Well, if that's the case, I'll go back to my calculations… I was working on a new theory there… " He wandered off to his workspace, muttering to himself.

Clark turned his attention back to Miranda. The time flew by, engrossing Clark. He followed the healing rays as they penetrated the skin and went inward. He saw the cracked bones repaired, the frostbitten tissue restored. Miranda's heart sped to a normal rate, and blood circulated through no-longer-burst vessels. Her appendectomy scar, still reddish and inflamed against the normal skin, disappeared under the healing light.

An anguished thought came to Clark. He had had a Fortress in his own world. His father, Jonathan Kent, had died of a sudden heart attack. If he had only known the Fortress could do this – if he had been able to get Jonathan to the Fortress in time –

Miranda stirred, just as the bitter taste of what might have been filled Clark's mouth. A rosy flush spread over her skin. The healing rays switched off. Miranda sat up, and stared at her surroundings in wonderment.

"Clark? What are you… what happened?"

He fought back a rush of anger. How dare she question him when she was the one who had trespassed? And behind the anger was fear – fear that Miranda might die, that Clark might be responsible for her death. And the other fear coursed through him, the fear _for_ her. Now that she knew his secret, she was tainted. When it came out, Miranda would be considered a collaborator, and there would be no mercy. It was just like in Clark's home world – everyone that found out his secret was sorry. Their lives were changed, not for the better. Many had died. Knowing Clark's secret was not a safe thing.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Clark snapped, looming over her, trying to intimidate her by his size.

"Dr. Klein said he was working for you. I wanted to see you again, so I followed him." Miranda didn't cower back, and she met his eyes squarely.

Clark refused to back away either. "Did you perhaps think my business might be _private_?"

"No," Miranda said, her eyes skittering away. She knew she'd trespassed, Clark deduced. It didn't take much detective ability to figure that out.

Clark shook his head. "Do you know what you've gotten yourself into?" He was just beginning to think through the implications, and his gut clenched at the thought.

"No," Miranda said again. This time her eyes met his, and she didn't look away. "What have I gotten myself into?" She took a deliberate look around the Fortress, her eyes widening as she saw the alien grandeur. "What is this place?"

"It's my base for taking over the world," Clark said sarcastically.

_That _got Miranda's attention. Her face paled. _Now _she inched back from Clark, sneaking glances at him from under lowered eyelids. She swallowed several times before managing to squeak out, "Really?"

Clark sighed. His anger leaked away as he saw Miranda cower backwards. He felt unutterably weary. "No, not really," he said quietly. He gave up trying to loom over her, and sat down next to Miranda. Her tension left her at his statement. She scrunched up, pulling her feet away from him, giving him room to sit. "That's what everyone will say, though."

"I knew you were too nice to conquer the Earth," Miranda confided.

"Yeah." Some world conqueror he was, thought Clark. He couldn't even intimidate a snoopy teenage girl.

"We talked about that," Miranda said. "All the other kids wanted to know what you were like. I told them how you took me flying and they were so jealous. Even the adults – they really liked it when you and Martha came to visit. Even after they found out you were Kryptonian they still liked you. They were really surprised that you would get all that stuff for me. They were really scared at first - they were kind of expecting you to, um… "

"Burn everybody up?" Clark asked sarcastically.

"Well, yeah," Miranda admitted.

"That's the point, Miranda," Clark said, trying to get it through her head. "It's dangerous to know me. It's dangerous to get too close to me. You shouldn't be here."

"Dr. Klein is here."

Clark sighed. "Bernie is a special case. I need him."

"For what?"

"Long story. And none of your business."

Miranda pouted. "I'll ask Gloria."

"She doesn't know either." _She can't know, _Clark thought. Chills ran through him at the prospect of Gloria, the virulent anti-Kryptonian, knowing about the Fortress.

Miranda gave up that topic. "Why is it dangerous to know you? Are you going to burn me up?"

"No, of course not," Clark said impatiently. "Miranda, don't you get it? Why do you think Gloria kicked me out? Weren't you paying attention? People hate Kryptonians and if you hang around me, they're going to hate you too."

Plus, as Clark didn't say, all the other stuff: People would try to use Miranda to coerce Clark. She'd be taken hostage. Or she'd be tarred with the "collaborator" brush and ostracized – or worse. Martha still got harassment from people for just going out to lunch with Clark. And Martha was a known hero of the Resistance.

Martha! Clark felt his spirits lift. Martha would know what to do. She would know what to say to make Miranda be quiet. She was human. She was a woman. She would know how to talk to a teenage girl who seemed to have a very annoying crush on Clark. Right now, Clark felt clueless, and frantic, and harried.

"Um, yes, I knew you were Kryptonian. You told me." As if Clark didn't remember. "You know why Gloria is so mad?" Miranda leaned forward and almost whispered.

"No, why?"

"Because she liked you," Miranda said. "She really liked you and she was actually thinking of moving everybody to Metropolis, like you wanted her to do. And then she found out."

"Gloria liked me?" Clark was flabbergasted.

"Yeah. I overheard her talking with LeeAnn once. She even said she thought you were really buff, and she wouldn't mind trying you out in the sack, even though you were kind of young, but you must have a thing for older women because you go around with Martha all the time."

"Martha's my _mother_," Clark blurted out, shocked to his core. If Gloria had had an actual thing for him – and wasn't that creepy, well, even though she was fairly good-looking, but she had that whole "responsible and stern protector of the colony" thing going on and Clark had certainly never thought of her as a _woman,_ strictly speaking – then when he was revealed to be Totally Non-Acceptable, she must have felt the sting. How could Gloria misjudge someone so badly? No wonder she hated him now.

"Your _mother_?" Now it was Miranda's turn to be flabbergasted. "I thought Martha was human."

Well, gee, wasn't _that_ twisting the knife. "My _adoptive_ mother," Clark ground out. "Anyway, we have to see her. She needs to talk to you." Ignoring Miranda's questions, Clark cast around… there! He had it. He opened a telepathic channel to Jor-El. Getting Jor-El's message had shown Clark this new ability, which still amazed him. Would he be able to speak with Martha this way? Or was it only because Clark was the "owner" of the Fortress and Jor-El was the Fortress AI? If the latter, would Martha have the same ability?

Whatever. It seemed to work with Jor-El, and for that Clark was grateful. _"Jor-El," _Clark asked, _"Can you contact Martha and ask her to meet me in Perry's office in fifteen minutes?" _He knew it was one of Martha's Metropolis days, so she'd be at the _Planet _building anyway.

_"Yes, Kal-El," _Jor-El replied serenely. There was a moment of silence, and then Jor-El contacted Clark again. _"Martha agrees."_

Well, that answered the question of whether or not Martha had the ability. So it must not be totally Kryptonian in nature.

Clark grabbed Miranda's hand. It was warm, natural, _healed_. "Come on." He pulled her to her feet.

"What?"

"We're going to Metropolis." The portal was only a few steps away. They could be at the _Planet _building in seconds. The fifteen minutes was only to allow Martha to extricate herself from whatever she was doing.

"Ooh! Can you go high up, so I can see everything?"

"What?" Clark got it. Miranda thought they were going to fly to Metropolis. He paused. Why not? If Miranda owed him a favor, maybe it would help Clark's quest for a shut teenage mouth. "Yeah," he said, hardly missing a beat.

Miranda got even more excited and practically jumped up and down.

Clark belatedly remembered something. "Wait here," he told Miranda. He went over to where Bernie was arguing with the Jor-El avatar, scribbling something on the Kryptonian equivalent of a whiteboard. Clark stood patiently in Bernie's field of vision until his presence registered in the scientist's perception.

"Bernie," Clark said, "Miranda's fine. I'm going to take her back home. Stay here as long as you like." And hopefully Bernie wouldn't get back to Gloria's place before Miranda did. Although from the calculations and the heated discussion with Jor-El, Bernie was probably going to be at the Fortress for at least the next few hours.

"Oh! Good." Bernie visibly put aside his concern – Clark could see him mentally transferring Miranda to the _Clark's taking care of it _file. Bernie said nothing else to Clark, merely turning and resuming his discussion with Jor-El.

Clark smiled. He was lucky to have Bernie Klein on his side. _"Jor-El,"_ Clark sent, _"if Bernie needs food, or water, or a bed or anything, just get it for him." _

_"Yes, Kal-El," _the avatar replied in his mind, while Clark saw the holographic Jor-El continue to gesticulate and interact with Bernie. Multi-tasking was simple for the AI.

Clark went back to where Miranda waited. The girl had turned her eyes upward and was staring at the amazing crystalline structure. Clark had been awed by the Fortress, too, the first time he'd seen it in his own world. Of course, the Fortress in his world had been partly generated from a crystal contaminated with the blood of a manipulative psychotic bitch, so the bloom had got off that rose pretty darn quick.

"We're all set to go." There was minor awkwardness while Miranda and Clark figured out the most comfortable flying position (Miranda was an inveterate gawker and kept on squirming and turning around to see the next thing), but they came to a rapprochement. Clark ended up wishing he hadn't agreed to fly Miranda back to Metropolis. He'd realized, too late, that carrying her in his arms would only encourage her crush. Now Miranda was comfortable but he wasn't.

Clark rose slowly. He gave Miranda the chance to see the ledges and crannies of the upper levels of the Fortress. He made a final adjustment of his aura before he mentally commanded the force field "ceiling" of the Fortress to let them through. The biting Arctic wind could not penetrate his invulnerable aura, and Miranda stayed safe and warm in his arms.

Clark let Miranda's oohs and aahs roll off him as they flew back to Metropolis. He frantically searched for the right words that would make her understand the seriousness of their predicament. Except it was really _his _predicament, wasn't it? The more Miranda said, the more it became obvious that their roles were to be The Sweet Innocent Young Girl Who Was Curious And Found Out Something Really Serious, and the Big Bad Kryptonian Monster Who Tried To Keep His World-Conquering Plans A Secret But Was Fortunately Exposed By The Sweet Young Innocent Curious Girl. Maybe Martha could help. She'd better.

Clark paused at Perry's window to open it. When he'd started taking Martha and Perry on trips, Perry had had several normal skyscraper windows removed and replaced with a large window. The large window was able to be opened from the outside unless locked from the inside, and more importantly, it allowed Clark access, and a private entrance. He could get through the large window without undignified squirming or contortions – not the case with the original smaller windows.

Clark landed, setting Miranda down gently. Perry strode from behind his desk to meet them, frowning slightly as he saw the young girl. His eyes asked the questions.

Clark began answering the unspoken query by telling Perry, "This is Miranda Milan. You might have heard me mention Gloria Tanner's colony. Miranda is from there. Miranda, this is Mr. Perry White, the Editor-In-Chief of the _Daily Planet._"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. White," Miranda said clearly, stepping forward and offering Perry her hand.

"And you too, Miss Milan," Perry replied, shaking Miranda's hand firmly. He cast a glance at Clark, a glance which Clark had no trouble interpreting as _What the heck is going on here?_

Fortunately, at that moment, Martha entered the office. Clark caught a quick flash of surprise as she saw Miranda. Then Martha smoothed it away, and greeted the girl.

"Miranda. This is an unexpected pleasure."

Miranda smiled shyly at Martha. She looked a little more nervous now that she'd had time to assimilate her surroundings. The penthouse office luxury was very different from the spartan quarters at Gloria's. The grandeur of the Fortress didn't count – it was so obviously alien. But Perry's penthouse office was of human origin. "Um, yes. I really didn't expect this at all," Miranda said as she openly gawked at her surroundings.

Before Martha could reply, Clark said, "Perry, perhaps you could interview Miranda while Martha and I get caught up." Perry didn't even need Clark's significant glance.

"Certainly, Clark. Miss Milan, it's certainly a pleasure to have you here. I'm afraid that everyone in Metropolis knows each other by now, and it's quite nice to see a new face." Perry put on the charm. He gently led Miranda to the other end of the office.

Martha raised an eyebrow. "I didn't expect to see her. Since you're here – " Martha gestured around at the penthouse, "I'm assuming you flew her here. I never thought her parents would give permission."

"They didn't. Martha, we've got a situation." Clark didn't bother to conceal his agitation. "She followed Bernie through the portal. She was at the Fortress."

"What?"

"She saw everything. Bernie, Jor-El, the Fortress…"

Martha's face paled. She saw the implications. "Can she be quiet?"

"I don't know."

Martha watched Miranda answer Perry's questions. Perry had gotten her to give mini-biographies of everyone in Gloria's colony.

"I have an idea." Martha headed off to the executive washroom.

"What?" Clark hissed.

"Just delay her for the next fifteen minutes." Martha disappeared behind the bathroom door. Clark saw a glow in the space between the door and the carpeting but no one else did. He recognized the glow. Martha had gone to the Fortress.

When they'd extended the portal system to the _Daily Planet _building, Martha had pointed out that having one access point in the executive washroom would be perfect. "After all, you're pretty much guaranteed privacy there." Clark and Perry had laughed and agreed. They'd put the other access point in a basement sublevel.

They hadn't had a chance to use it yet, though. Martha and Perry had expected to have Clark fly them back to the Fortress on their next regularly scheduled lunch Thursday.

Clark saw when Perry figured it out. He dragged his eyes from the washroom door over to Clark, a question in his glance. Clark nodded slowly. Perry nodded back, just a little, and didn't change his expression as he continued to talk with Miranda.

The light flashed again under the closed door, and after a minute, Martha came out. She looked no different.

"What did you do?" Clark asked quietly.

Martha turned her body so that Miranda could not see the small crystal she pulled out of her pocket. Its subtle shimmer proclaimed its alien origin. "Meet the mindwipe crystal. We hold this to her forehead, and Miranda forgets everything about this morning."

"What?" Clark was shocked. "A mindwipe?"

Martha put the crystal back into her pocket. "Clark, think about this for a minute."

"I want her to be quiet, yes, but messing with her mind? Martha, I can't believe you'd do that to her, after what happened to you!" He kept his voice down despite his agitation.

"Clark." Martha said his name deliberately. "What are our options? This is the best one for Miranda. She can't talk about this. It's a death sentence for all of us if she does. We have to keep her quiet. So what are you going to do? Kill her to ensure her silence?"

"Of course not!"

"Lex would."

"I'm not Lex. And I really don't think Lex would a fellow human now." He didn't say anything about himself. Both of them knew that Lex would have no qualms in eliminating Clark.

"Clark, you're naïve," Martha said seriously. "You don't know Lex."

"Whatever. I'm not Lex and I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Glad to hear it. So that's out. So what's our next option? Kidnap her?"

"Come on, Martha," Clark said impatiently.

"Yeah, kidnapping. That would work really well. By the way, Clark, has Miranda's family – have Gloria and her group started looking for their lost lamb yet? And do they know she was following Dr. Klein?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then, we'd better get Miranda back to them fast before they start worrying enough to send people to Metropolis."

"Martha… it isn't right."

Martha looked down. "I know." She looked back up at Clark and asked him defiantly, "Do you have a better idea?"

Clark sighed. He'd come running to Martha to solve his Miranda problem. And her answers were no better than his. Worse, actually. "We could ask her."

"Ask? She's a teenager. Do you think that'll work?" Martha asked scornfully.

"I don't know," Clark said, a small smile playing on his lips. "But I've learned that ordinary people are capable of extraordinary things." He held Martha's gaze until she looked away.

Clark strode forward. "Miranda."

"Yes?" The girl broke off her conversation with Perry.

"We want to ask you a favor." Clark took a deep breath, and then launched into an explanation of the political situation, the plan for the Fortress (described here only as getting Clark home), and the necessity of silence. He said nothing about Martha's mindwipe crystal.

Miranda was nodding by the time Clark finished. "Of course I won't say anything. You can count on me."

Martha stepped up. "Are you sure? Are you ready to back that up?"

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked nervously.

"Well, it seems to me that we don't really have a good excuse for you being here. You need some sort of alibi. We can set you up with a good story, but it'll hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Miranda looked a lot less confident now, Clark noted.

"I'll hit you." At Clark's instinctive protest, Martha held up her hand and quieted him as she continued talking to Miranda. "The story will be that you went outside, you fell down a hole or something, and Clark found you and took you to Metropolis for medical treatment. You got bandaged up in Metropolis, and then Clark will take you back home."

Miranda was silent.

"Well?" Martha asked. "Aren't you brave enough to stand up to a little pain to keep your word?" She looked over at Clark. He tightened his lips and looked away. Clark refused to look at Miranda too. He knew, even though Miranda didn't, that the choice was between voluntary and involuntary silence. He would prefer the former. Even though the stakes were his life, and the lives of Perry and Martha, he felt ashamed that he had tacitly agreed to use the Kryptonian crystal on Miranda if she didn't agree.

Was this what it was going to be like? Compromising, eroding his conscience bit by bit? Agreeing to one thing slightly over the line now, and another thing further over the line tomorrow? Martha was supposed to keep him on the straight and narrow, but right now she seemed to be leading him astray.

Miranda clenched her fists. "Yes." She said it in a very tiny voice, but steadily.


	38. Chapter 38

_From the previous chapter..._

"Well, it seems to me that we don't really have a good excuse for you being here. You need some sort of alibi. We can set you up with a good story, but it'll hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Miranda looked a lot less confident now, Clark noted.

"I'll hit you." At Clark's instinctive protest, Martha held up her hand and quieted him as she continued talking to Miranda. "The story will be that you went outside, you fell down a hole or something, and Clark found you and took you to Metropolis for medical treatment. You got bandaged up in Metropolis, and then Clark will take you back home."

Miranda was silent.

"Well?" Martha asked. "Aren't you brave enough to stand up to a little pain to keep your word?" She looked over at Clark. He tightened his lips and looked away. Clark refused to look at Miranda too. He knew, even though Miranda didn't, that the choice was between voluntary and involuntary silence. He would prefer the former. Even though the stakes were his life, and the lives of Perry and Martha, he felt ashamed that he had tacitly agreed to use the Kryptonian crystal on Miranda if she didn't agree.

Was this what it was going to be like? Compromising, eroding his conscience bit by bit? Agreeing to one thing slightly over the line now, and another thing further over the line tomorrow? Martha was supposed to keep him on the straight and narrow, but right now she seemed to be leading him astray.

Miranda clenched her fists. "Yes." She said it in a very tiny voice, but steadily.

* * *

"I can't believe you actually hit her right then," Clark said as we lifted off from Gloria's place. I wondered if he thought less of me for doing so. I hadn't liked doing it either, but it was better than a mindwipe.

"Well, no sense giving her time to think about it," I replied, adjusting myself in his grip. "Besides, she'll stay quiet now."

"Why?"

"When you pay for something, you take better care of it."

Clark mused on that. Then he said, "Where did you learn to hit like that?

"From Lois. She taught me. I sparred with her for months after Zod… afterwards. I kept it up with other people at Metropolis base. And I hear I'm not the only one."

Clark shrugged. "It's no secret. I've been visiting Lois and Oliver. They strap on a little kryptonite and tutor me in self-defense."

"Without the powers?"

"Yes. Living in this world has taught me I can't always depend on, you know, the alien abilities." He added ruefully, "Of course, if my opponent brings enough kryptonite, I'm toast." Left unsaid was what we both knew – if Lex wanted to bring down Clark, he would certainly bring enough kryptonite.

"Miranda's family was happy to see her." I changed the subject.

Clark sighed. I belatedly remembered that Clark had had a family in the other world. Almost every day, he'd been greeted with hugs. There, not here. Not on this world.

"It was a good thing you did the talking," Clark said. "Me spiraling down from the skies holding their beaten-up daughter wasn't exactly what a worried father wanted to see. Fortunately, you explained it all."

"It wasn't just me. Miranda spun a good line, too." I wondered if Clark could hear the admiration in my voice. "That kid has a future. She's a natural-born liar."

Clark laughed.

"And you, Clark, are not. So don't even try to lie. You're terrible at it."

"I was going to say, she could be a lawyer," Clark riposted.

We shared a laugh.

"How about checking on Bernie?" Clark asked.

"Probably a good idea."

Clark changed direction and we headed north. I saw the glimmer of the crystalline girders from miles away. Clark flew us over the top of the Fortress and then dropped straight down, just fast enough to mimic a stomach-dropping elevator ride. I wobbled when he set me down.

Bernie was there, sitting dejectedly at the table.

"What's the matter, Bernie?" Clark asked, before I could.

Dr. Klein looked up, tiredness in his features. "I've been talking with Jor-El – working out experimental lines – trying everything. I still don't have it."

That was a blow to our hopes. Clark looked as disappointed as I felt, but he kept it out of his voice. "What have you tried so far?"

"Well…" and Bernie began discussing his theories. It was Greek to me. It seemed to make sense to Clark, though, because he interjected comments and questions at appropriate intervals. "Have you tried alterations in the delta vee?"

"That was on the first page," Klein sniffed. "Along with several variations on the theme."

"Oh." I could see Clark casting about. "What about the Yarkovsky Effect? Have you figured that in?"

Bernie looked interested. "Hmm… do we really need to figure that in when we're only focusing on Earth and its alternates? I mean, we're not talking asteroids here." He wrinkled his brow. "Still, a good point there, Clark." He picked up a stylus and began making tentative motions on a high-tech Kryptonian scratch pad. "Hmmm… very good point… have to roust out Jor-El on this one… hmmm…."

I recognized the signs of Klein beginning a train of thought. Time to cut our visit short. "Well, goodbye, Bernie," I said, touching his shoulder.

"What? Oh, goodbye, Martha," Klein said absently.

"Goodbye, Bernie," Clark said. "Martha and I appreciate your efforts. We're all in this together." He also touched Bernie's shoulder in lieu of shaking his hand.

"Together…" Bernie mumbled. "Together…" From the way his eyes lit, Bernie had found a fruitful new path of inquiry.

We crept out. Actually, we levitated out. As we silently left the Fortress, I saw Bernie still scribbling with his stylus, lost in thought.

"Darn!" Clark said.

"What?"

"I forgot to tell Bernie that he should make some appearances back at Gloria's. They think I've kidnapped him."

"I told everyone there that the patient he was taking care of developed complications."

"Did they believe you?"

"Nobody called me on it. Of course, you were there."

"So they weren't too happy about their missing mad scientist, but they didn't want to confront me?"

I shrugged. "I think it would be a nice gesture if you brought Gloria and everyone there a pallet of canned goods. Sort of a "rent for Dr. Klein" goodwill gesture."

"How long do you think he's going to take?"

"To solve our problem? I don't know, Clark. Bernie's a genius. You can't bottle that." I smiled. "I do think he will solve it, though."

Clark smiled back. "I do too."

* * *

It was only two days later that I got a call. It was an unusual call. It was a telepathic message from Jor-El. My presence, along with that of Clark, was requested at the Fortress.

Fortunately, it was evening. The day's work was done, the evening meal eaten. Even more fortunately, I'd been in Metropolis, not underground at the base. Less fortunately, I had planned on spending the night with Perry, and the call might put the kibosh on that.

"Darn."

"What?" Perry asked. He'd already had a gleam in his eye.

"I have to go to the Fortress." I wearily put back on my clothing, looked for my parka.

"Why?" Perry was disappointed too. His question was interrupted by a polite knocking at the door. He opened it, and Clark greeted us.

"I know," I said before Clark could. "We have to go to the Fortress. Do you know why?"

"I think Bernie's had a breakthrough," Clark said, with suppressed excitement.

"Really?"

"Yes. Perry, do you want to come too?"

Perry caught my glance. "Certainly." He threw on some warmer clothes.

We crowded into the executive washroom and I activated the portal. It took us all in one trip.

Jor-El's avatar waited patiently for us. Bernie Klein almost danced with excitement. "I think I have it," Bernie said. "Clark, when you said 'together' it made me think. That's it."

"What's it?" I asked.

"It's going to take all of us to fulfill your plans," Bernie said. And he was off again, chattering loudly, explaining his theory as best he could to us. He tried to tone down the technicalities but I got lost anyway. Fortunately, he didn't mind repeating. After some fifteen or twenty minutes of explanations, I thought I had it.

"So… obviously we need Jor-El and the Fortress to, uh… "

"To make a gate between the universes. That's something only the Kryptonian technology here can do." Bernie looked sad for a moment. "In fact, I'm still not sure how that technology works. I've kind of been black-boxing it." He caught sight of my worried expression and hastened to add, "But it works. No denying that."

"And you need Clark because… "

"Jor-El may be able to open a gate, but to which universe? Clark wants to end up back in his own world. He'll direct which gates open."

"Why do you need me, then?"

"Ah," Bernie said. "You wanted to replace parts of this world with the analogous parts of alternate worlds."

"Well, yes. But we were only going to take a little bit from each world."

"Do you want to keep anything from this world?"

"Certainly. I wouldn't want to lose the _Daily Planet _building, for example," I said, squeezing Perry's hand.

"That's one reason why we need you, Martha. Or somebody from this Earth."

I must have shown my incomprehension because Bernie visibly changed what he was going to say. "Think of it this way. Jor-El is all alien. Clark is part alien and part human – I know, not by blood, but by upbringing. So he can stand in between. You're all Earthian – "

"Earthian?" Perry muttered.

"Terran, then. You know what I mean," Bernie said impatiently. "Martha is attuned to this world, here. She'll naturally feel how things should be. She can filter things, keep things here, allow things to move to the other world, and know what we want to replace when we start working. Clark can't do that. He's tuned to his original universe. He doesn't fit in here. He can show the path but he can't belong."

I met Clark's eyes. His thought matched mine – I knew it with the link we'd developed while fighting Brainiac. "A metaphor for my life," Clark said quietly.

"When I say you don't fit in here, Clark, I wasn't referring to your Kryptonian ancestry," Bernie said with unusual (for him) delicacy. "I meant that this isn't your universe. You're from what we would consider an alternate universe."

"And I would consider _this_ an alternate universe."

"Exactly." Bernie seemed pleased. "So I figured we could have a test run. Try things out, see how it goes. Then Jor-El and I can go over the data and see if we need to tweak anything… I'm still not quite sure about those last equations…" He began furiously writing on the scratch pad again.

Perry and Clark and I looked at each other. I shrugged.

"From what I see of his equations and theories, it's plausible," Clark offered. "So, Martha, are you up for a trial run?"

I nodded, my throat dry. "So, how do we do this?"

Jor-El's avatar spoke for the first time, startling me. On the other hand, it was obvious that Bernie was off in another creative fugue, so he was the logical one to speak up. "It will be best if we assume a triangular configuration with the principals at least ten meters apart. When we are in position, I will initiate the trial."

"Do you want us to stand anywhere in particular?" Clark asked. By this time, Bernie had made a few last swipes with his stylus, and joined us.

"Perhaps you could stand there," Bernie said diffidently, pointing to a spot not far from the central control console. "Martha, over there… and Jor-El will manifest _there._" We obediently headed toward our corners of the Fortress.

"Do I have to be anywhere special?" Perry asked.

"No," Bernie answered.

"Then I'm standing next to Martha." He took my hand as we walked to the far corner. His warm grasp calmed me. That was Perry – the steady backup, the reliable ally. I reached the designated spot and pulled his head down for a kiss. He hugged me tightly, and then let me go. He stood beside me.

"OK, I'm ready," I called. "Clark? You set? Jor-El?"

The other two nodded. Clark took the initiative. "Jor-El. Let's start."

The avatar nodded. It had slowly taken on more human-like gestures over the time I'd known it – or known him. A curious itch developed in my head. I recognized it.

_"The first step is formation of a telepathic link," _Jor-El messaged to us. From the way Clark rubbed his head, I could tell that he felt it too. And suddenly, with an almost-audible _click, _the link was established.

Fortunately, Clark and I were not as intimately intertwined as we had been during our quest to remove Brainiac. No, I sensed him, I sensed him sensing me, and I got a vague impression of what he was feeling. I felt a sweeping ocean, wavelets of thought cresting and falling, but I couldn't hear Clark's specific thoughts.

At least, not until Clark projected his thoughts at me. _"Martha?"_

_ "It's me." _I sensed Clark's grin.

_"Are you linked with Jor-El?"_

I hadn't wanted to probe in that direction, but at Clark's question, I did. Unlike the boundless ocean, the constant movement of blue that was Clark, Jor-El's psyche presented itself as hard and crystalline. And alien. Definitely alien. Tiny lights that I saw without eyes sparkled within the crystal, the patterns infinitely changing. I skated over the surface, Jor-El not projecting at me, obviously allowing me time. He waited for me to make the first probe.

_"Jor-El?" _

His response was immediate. _"Martha Kent. Kal-El." _I could almost see the channel connecting us. _"The link is solid. I will begin." _

_ "Wait a minute!" _That was Clark. _"What are we going to do?" _

Oh, right. A little planning might have been nice.

_"I will open a passage to another universe and substitute its terrain for the analogous location in this world."_

_ "That's well and good, but what terrain?" _I chimed in.

Confusion from Jor-El. The AI didn't do well with some types of independent thought, it seemed.

_"Hawaii," _Clark thought at me firmly.

_"Why?"_

_ "It's out of the way, it's a bunch of islands that can be treated separately, and… well, right now all that's there is a bunch of ferns. Everything else died, all the other plants and animals are gone.. I'd like to see Hawaii as it should be." _

I shrugged. Clark sensed my agreement. _"Hawaii, then, Jor-El," _he telepathed to the AI.

_"Very well." _Jor-El gathered himself – strange how I could feel that – and then I felt his thoughts coalescing into a spear point of total will. Then the AI took that point and… and… _did _something. I tried to see it, to understand it. It niggled at the edges of my comprehension. But it was out of my grasp.

_"Kal-El." _The AI radiated a sense of passing control to another. I felt Clark step up. His thoughts were intent and I sensed them as well. He was searching… seeking… the ocean waves were smaller and more frequent as his thoughts ranged over options with inhuman swiftness. Right now, Clark felt very alien, very much like Jor-El.

I sensed the feeling of "found it!" that ended Clark's search. Clark guided us toward what I assumed was a suitable alternate world. I felt the spear point pierce a shadowy veil, and heard Clark's soft sigh of accomplishment both with my ears and my mind.

Then agony sliced through Clark. I got only the backwash through our link, but it was enough to leave me pale and trembling.

"What?" I called out.

_"What was that?" _Clark sent through our link at the same time. I looked over – he looked pale and shaky.

Jor-El answered, his explanation larded with Kryptonian terms not translatable to English. I had had the Kryptonian download and my mind groped for analogies. _"Kal-El, when you choose a specific world, the 'music of the universe' must pass through you. You are most 'in tune' with worlds that are most like the universe of your origin. As you have chosen universes lacking human habitation, these worlds are a far 'distance' from you. Therefore, their 'native energy' will be perceived by your body as a painful stimulus. Should you choose worlds closer to the world of your origin, the 'native energy' will be less painful, and of course when you return to your own world, there will be no pain." _

"So, you mean that every time I, uh, find another world, I'll get…" Clark said out loud. I mentally echoed his sentence. _You'll be impaled? Tortured? Facing a bolt of agony? _Clark finished by saying wanly, "That really hurt."

Jor-El actually sounded sympathetic. _"Some pain is unavoidable, my son. Nothing worthwhile comes easily. After our trial, you and I must discuss our data with Dr. Klein." _He actually sounded like he had some respect for Bernie. That, more than anything, let me know how smart Bernie actually was. _"Perhaps adjustments can be made." _

"I hope so," Clark grumbled. It was strange how I could hear him with both my ears and my mind. I could sense his reluctance to face that searing energy bolt again – and also his determination to do what he had to do, despite the pain.

_"Shall we proceed?"_ Jor-El asked delicately. _"Kal-El, you have not lost control?"_

_ "No," _Clark replied shortly. We still had a door to whatever alternate world he'd picked.

Nothing happened. Jor-El finally broke the silence. _"Kal-El, you must define the parameters." _

_ "What?"_

_ "This Fortress can transfer almost any area or volume you desire. It requires direction." _

Clark looked at me physically, and also turned his thoughts to me. _"Martha?"_

I gulped. I had no clue. But… _"Let's start with the Big Island."_ I'd never been to Hawaii, knew nothing about it other than what I saw on TV or heard from colleagues who'd vacationed there. I was going in blind.

_"Very well," _Jor-El said. _"Martha, be ready. You must retain whatever you wish to preserve of this world." _

_ "Very well," _I repeated. I had no idea of what was about to happen, except that my being human was somehow necessary.

I got the impression that Jor-El, if he were alive, would be taking a deep breath. _"Let us begin." _

The telepathic link grew tighter, and I _felt _Jor-El cast a… confining field… around the Big Island. I _felt _the Fortress sucking energy from the other world's sun, felt the dissociation of our Big Island and the other Big Island from their underlying… worlds? structures? matrices? If, indeed, there was a 'music of the spheres', Jor-El was doing a brute-force re-tuning of both pieces of real estate.

Our Hawaii, covered with abandoned homes and hotels, began dissolving, parts of it fading away, replaced instantaneously by the other Big Island interpolating itself into the gradually growing interstices made as Jor-El wrenched its music into the melody of our world.

What was I supposed to be doing?

_"Attend, Martha Kent," _Jor-El said sternly. The telepathic link grew even tighter – but Clark was excluded, I thought. This was between Jor-El and me. The link grew closer – and suddenly I fell into the Lake of Keeping and Letting Go.

That's what I called it later on, when I tried to describe it to Clark. My words lacked the capability to explain it. I could not tell him what it was like. It was… it was hearing the music of our world… seeing the other world and this world simultaneously and yet logically… feeling the changes wrought… _knowing _the piece of land that Jor-El was exchanging, and _knowing_ every bit of that land. Every inch, every acre – every bit of human-made _stuff_, and everything touched or altered by humans. I marveled that I could do this, and understood my mind, under Jor-El's tutelage, had expanded – I _could _comprehend this, if only for a moment.

Then the totality of the vision slipped away, and I found that I had to focus on specific things. Did I want to keep this road, this bridge, this house? Did I want to keep a harbor, a breakwater? What about the library, the house full of books, the shop with tacky souvenirs? I knew now why I had to be human. Whatever I wanted to keep, I "tagged", held it back against the tidal wave of substitution that Jor-El had caused to sweep over the Big Island. My "tags" anchored what I kept, sang the same music of the world I was in, the music that I now heard around myself. It was the essential vibration of us all.

Thinking of that, I cast a probe towards Clark, seeking his essential music. I felt what Jor-El had said – Clark had a different song. It wasn't because he was alien – Jor-El was certainly alien, but because the Fortress had grown on my Earth, Jor-El's song shared a little melody with mine. But Clark – Clark sounded different. He was from a different Krypton, a different Earth, a different universe. Despite his differences, his song had a smooth integrity and odd beauty to it. I wondered momentarily what Zod's song would have been like. Dissonant and ugly, I suspected.

Jor-El continued to work. Lush forests, rife with vertebrate and invertebrate life, replaced the denuded soil of our Hawaii. I _perceived_ that the Hawaii from our target Earth still had the beautiful o'o bird, flocks of nene geese and the 'io hawk patrolling the skies above lush ohia lehua trees, koa trees and uluhe ferns. The Loihi seamount was only a few feet under the waves on this Earth and soon would blossom forth as a baby island. The Kona grosbeak still roamed the hills of the volcanoes. Was this perception what it felt like to be a god? I quailed at the thought and actively drove it from my mind. Mankind had decimated the Hawaiian wildlife on our Earth. Were we really any better than the Kryptonians, after all?

Finally, I let go of almost everything man-made. I think I kept a highway, and some bridges. _We need to have a plan on that,_ I thought. What did we want to keep? What could be swept off into the other universe?

I felt Jor-El coming to a conclusion. The other Big Island had slowly melted into our world and was fixed there. Our Hawaii had had its music changed, its substance thrust into the other universe. We had the island filled with pre-human-contact jungle. The other world had our fern-covered, almost lifeless lump of volcanic rock, littered with the abandoned litter of a fallen technological civilization.

The telepathic link loosened. I felt Clark at the edges again. _"Martha Kent."_ Did Jor-El sound a little weary? _"You see, now, what it is you are to do?" _

_ "I do," _I replied honestly.

_"Shall we go on?" _Clark asked. _"Oahu next?" _

"OK with me." I shrugged. Then a wave of dizziness washed through me and I almost fell down.

_"Martha!" _ Clark sped over to me and caught me before I fell. He had a habit of doing things like that. _"What's the matter?"_

Perry stepped up too, taking me from Clark. Weakness made me tremble. "What is it?" Perry asked.

"I don't know… I'm so tired…"

Jor-El spoke out loud. "The exigencies of her position require much strength from Martha Kent."

Well, _that _didn't bode well for our quest. It seemed I was the weakest link – literally. If I had to rest every time we did this… An idea came to mind. "Can Perry help?"

Perry looked surprised. "I thought this was only for – "

"For controllers of the Fortress? I don't know." Maybe that was the case, but in my filtering, it seemed as if any human native to this universe could do the job. Maybe Perry and I could split it up? "Jor-El?"

The AI considered this a moment. "An excellent suggestion. Perry White has already received the Kryptonian download. Yes, Martha Kent, Perry White may share the burden."

Jor-El didn't deny that it was a burden. Restoring the world wasn't an easy task. I belatedly realized that I hadn't asked Perry. Would he want to be involved in this crazy quest? I turned to my companion. "Perry?"

Perry took a long look around the Fortress, at Bernie Klein (who'd slipped into an exhausted nap), at the alien control console, at Clark, and finally at the viewscreen which showed the new Hawaii. A smile gradually teased itself across his lips. "Of course, Martha. You realize this means I get the exclusive?"

I reached up and guided his lips to mine, kissing him in sheer delight. I loved Perry. "It does mean a telepathic link," I warned.

Perry swallowed and looked at Clark, obviously having qualms. Clark looked back at him evenly.

"Well, _you've_ come through it before…" Perry said dubiously. "What do I have to do?"

It turned out that Perry had to undergo another session in the light rays, for Jor-El to do something to him that would allow Perry to join the telepathic link. It took only a few minutes,

The link itself was very interesting this time. When Jor-El initiated it, once again I felt the AI's crystalline intelligence, and Clark's churning mind, deep as the ocean. This time, though, I felt Perry next to me, rocklike, steady and strong and reliable. And human. Despite the unfamiliarity of the link, Perry's mind had a comforting smoothness that I realized was due to our common human ancestry, not just because he was Perry. The contrast between Perry and the alien intelligences of Kal-El and Jor-El was immediately apparent.

No matter our background, we shared a mission. Jor-El opened the path between the worlds, and Clark guided us to a particular one. Clark fixed us in the alternate world, taking the pain as he did so. In addition to myself, Perry felt the echo of Clark's pain, and he whistled silently at Clark's fortitude.

Jor-El cast his field, this time around Oahu, and when it came to the "filtering" part, Perry was right there next to me. We communicated silently, mind to mind, discussing what to save, what to let go.

And when our task was done, we both sagged in exhaustion. Saving parts of our world – and just a little bit of it – had taken all our energy. Adding Perry to the mix had helped only a little bit.

"This isn't working," I said, barely able to keep my eyes open.

"Agreed," Perry said, haggard. "We need rest." He looked at me and recognized the truth – both of us needed a full night's sleep before we could do any more. "At this rate, it'll take months."

"I don't think we have months," Clark said worriedly. He'd come up and put an arm around each of us, much like he did when he flew us somewhere. Only this time, he kept us from falling to the ground in sheer fatigue. "We need to get this done." He brought us to the table and chairs, where we sat down gratefully.

"I know you want to get home…" I said.

"It's not that," Clark said. "Well, not only that. Once we start doing this, eventually Lex will find out. You're at – we're all at risk if Lex can, um, interfere with us while the job is going on. I'd like to present him with a fait accompli and have it all done before he takes notice."

"And you'll be in another universe by then."

Clark grinned. "Exactly."

"A valid point." Perry smiled too, and managed to stand a little straighter. "Well, Clark, I think this task is made for Kryptonians. We humans can't stand up to the strain." Was there bitterness in his tone, or only rueful acknowledgement?

"We could get a bunch more people, and run it in shifts," I suggested.

Perry nixed that before Clark could. "Who would you trust? It's not practical."

"I have a suggestion," Jor-El broke in.

I looked at the avatar, surprised. It was rare for the AI to speak up of its own accord and not in response to a statement or question.

"What?" All three of us said it simultaneously. Perhaps the telepathic link hadn't dissipated.

"Should Martha Kent and Perry White consent, this Fortress can alter their physical bodies to allow for greater endurance."

"What?" we all said again.

Jor-El launched into a long explanation. The gist of it was that he had scanned not only Clark, but also Perry, me and Miranda. He'd developed a fine appreciation for the differences between Kryptonians and humans. The AI's proposal was to take some of the Kryptonian traits and give them to us. Not everything, because our bodies couldn't endure that. But we would have greater strength and endurance. We'd need to eat more to pay for these advantages, as the AI couldn't give us the ability to absorb solar energy. And X-ray vision, heat vision, and flying were right out, of course.

"What do you think?" Perry asked. His tone was neutral.

"I don't know… " I didn't want to talk about my fears in front of Clark, who sat there maintaining an assiduous silence. _Will I still be human? _

Perry, bless him, picked up on my reluctance even without the telepathic link. Or maybe we'd developed our own telepathy in the weeks we'd spent as lovers and friends. "Clark, Jor-El, I think Martha and I need to sleep on this." Very true – our eyelids were drooping.

Clark nodded. I wondered how much he suspected of my fears. We knew each other better than anyone else. There was a good chance he understood my qualms. He wanted to get home as soon as he could, and he needed our help, but he wouldn't force us to make a decision. That wasn't his way.

He kept a careful silence. I knew he wouldn't try influence me. He was very sensitive to the thought of forcing anyone to do anything. It came with the powers, and the terms he'd agreed to when the Metropolis Council bought his service in this world. And it was his nature – he would rather lead than drive. I knew Clark well enough for that.

He helped us stand, and got us over to the portal that led to the _Daily Planet _building. "I think I'll go over the data with Bernie and Jor-El, see if we can fine-tune this," Clark said.

Perry and I nodded. We triggered the portal and stepped out in the executive washroom of the penthouse suite. We supported each other as we fell into bed.


	39. Chapter 39

Waking ten hours later, I felt much better. I wriggled out of Perry's sleeping embrace and went to the washroom. By the time I'd finished my morning ablutions, he was up and around. It was Sunday, and we could sleep in – despite the need for constant hard work, we humans knew the necessity of a day off every week. Perry, I knew, had arranged matters at the _Daily Planet _with his capable deputy, Sam Foswell. In fact, Sam had been filling in for Perry a lot lately, although Perry had led Sam to believe that it was due to Perry courting me, which wasn't exactly a lie.

After pouring us some tea, Perry opened the discussion. "Should we?"

I loved him for that _we_. There was no _you_ – it was all _we_.

"I don't know," I said, getting up and pacing. "It's downright creepy."

Perry played devil's advocate. "Creepy? No worse than what you went through before." I'd told him about my experiences with Zod and Brainiac bit by bit over the last months. "They changed you then."

Not wanting to remember that painful time, I protested emphatically. "Yes. But I didn't ask for it. I didn't choose it."

"So what are your options now? What are your choices?" Perry was very good about cutting through the B.S. He started talking, not waiting for me. "You're still a half… um, owner of the Fortress. That's not going to go away."

"I know." I _did_ know.

"I have to say, I was really impressed by this scheme of replacing the whole Earth. You don't think small. It's bold, it's daring, and it's decisive. It's very Martha." He smiled into my uncertainty.

"It was your idea."

"It doesn't matter. You're doing it."

"And Clark too."

"Of course. But you're right there." Perry drew in a breath. "So, do you want to quit now? Leave the job with only two Hawaiian islands restored?"

"No." People had said that Jonathan was stubborn, but they didn't know that I had a less-well-publicized core of perseverance. Clark knew, of course. Perry knew too.

"Maybe you want to put this plan on hiatus for awhile and use the Fortress for something else."

What else could I use it for? Having the Fortress frightened me. I had to use it for grand gestures. Using it for personal gain or for tiny, fearful changes seemed wrong. I'd been accustomed to limiting my outlook the past three years – 'just get through today' had been my motto. Then we'd defeated the Kryptonian invaders, and I still thought day-to-day. It wasn't till after I'd been healed that I dared think more than one day ahead, dared to hope. I realized now that with that limited thinking, the Kryptonians were still winning, even after we had defeated them.

"You could ignore the Fortress. Just turn your back on it and walk away."

"I couldn't strand Clark here, not when he has a chance of going home."

"Why don't you send him home and then ignore the Fortress?"

"Because he won't go till the job is done." To me that was obvious; maybe not so much to Perry.

"So, Martha, you're basically saying you have to do the job."

"I guess I knew that, underneath. I just didn't want to face it."

"The only question is, will you do it slow or fast? The human way or the… enhanced human way?"

"It's not just me, you know. What about you?"

"Martha, I wouldn't let you go through this alone," Perry said seriously. What had I ever done to deserve this man? Tears rose to my eyes as he said, "I'll stand by you."

"Aren't you afraid?" I asked him directly.

He looked away. "Yes."

"I'm afraid too."

Perry advanced to me, and took me in his arms. "I ask myself, will we still be human?" He held me for a few minutes. "But, you know, Martha, hardly anyone that survived is truly human. There are a lot of metas out there. So maybe we'll have to redefine _human_." He hugged me. "I think we'll still be the same people, the same personalities afterwards, just a little different.

"That is," I had to smile, "inexact talk from a newspaperman."

"You know what I mean." He chuckled too. "I guess what it comes down to is, do you trust Clark?"

I considered. "Yes… you know, it's so weird. If you'd asked me that question last year there's no way I would have said yes. I wanted to have him killed. Now I'm – we're going against the duly elected authority in this country to work with him and you know, do these crazy things."

"My life has been crazy since I met you, Martha." Perry held me tighter. "And despite everything, these have been the best months of my life."

"I love you," I said.

"You too." There was a moment of silence, and then Perry said, "So, we're going to do it, then?"

"Be re-made by the Fortress… yes."

"Now?"

Listening to my stomach, I shook my head. "After breakfast."

"Do you want breakfast at the Fortress?"

"I'd rather eat with you here. Even though breakfast at the Fortress might have better food."

"Those molecular replicators are pretty helpful for stuff like that," Perry joked, letting me go.

"I know. I think Clark has been having the Fortress make up preserved food and he slips it into the storerooms. Or he brings it to the base openly and says he found it foraging. Which, when you think about it, is basically true."

"Technology like that…" Perry looked covetous for a minute.

"But what you said before is true, Perry. It's not our technology. Copying it would be wrong. That would be cheating. We have to develop it on our own." I felt strongly about this. "At least Bernie Klein is getting some ideas."

"Wait till he finds he needs helium-three for a power source."

"That's a little hard for the average person to get."

"I'm betting on Bernie. He'll come up with something."

With a chuckle, we separated. After Perry did his morning routine, we shared a quiet breakfast. Then we took the portal back to the Fortress. Perry and I didn't look at each other. We had agreed, but taking the first steps to be… changed... was scary.

Clark was still there, looking a little tired. Bernie was absent. Clark didn't look tired very often. I wondered if his fatigue came from constant exposure to Bernie's unending rush of new ideas.

"Where's Bernie?"

"I took him back home," Clark explained.

"Did he have any new ideas? Were you checking out new worlds? I know that's painful for you."

"I'm all right," Clark said shortly. "How about you?"

I looked at Perry, he looked back at me. I shrugged. "Ready to go ahead."

"I didn't hear you add '_with this crazy idea'_," Clark teased, more like his old self.

"My life has been crazy since – " I stopped. _Since your race invaded my planet. _ By his expression, Clark heard what I wasn't saying. "This is just another day's work."

Perry managed not to guffaw, but his expression said it all.

"What we came here to tell you, Clark, is that we're ready to go ahead with what Jor-El said." I was proud for keeping the tremble out of my voice.

He broke into a gratified – and tired – smile. "Thank you. I didn't want to say anything, but I'm glad you're doing this. It means a lot to me." Our eyes met, and I saw the deep gratitude he couldn't say. He, more than anyone, would know how afraid I was about Kryptonian technology changing me, and how much it had cost me to agree to this.

I nodded. "OK, let's go ahead with it." I wanted to get it over with, before I started having waking nightmares.

The avatar appeared. "Very well, Martha Kent," Jor-El said. "If you will be pleased to stand here…" A light stabbed down, illuminating a particular patch of Fortress floor.

"Can Perry and I go together?" I wanted to hold him, to feel his solidity.

"There is no contraindication." Jor-El's tones were even. The light patch grew a little wider.

I looked at Perry. He looked back at me. I took his hand, and together, we walked over to the spot. My heart beat quickly. I was afraid. Would this hurt as much as the pain I'd felt when Brainiac had… _adjusted _me? Would I be damaged, as I had been after Brainiac's attentions? And, despite what Perry had said, I wondered: Would I still be human?

We stood together in the light, embracing. I waited till my heart slowed, and then whispered to Perry, "Are you set?" He nodded. I turned my head to address Jor-El. "We're ready."

The changing ray stabbed down. With relief, I realized it didn't hurt – there was no pain, only a feeling of warmth that started at my feet and moved upward. What I could see of Perry's body glowed a deep red, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. I still felt his arm around me, and I was comforted.

The warmth reached the top of my head. There was a moment where I stood, warm throughout, and then the changing ray switched off. We stood once again in the Fortress, outwardly unchanged.

I stepped out of Perry's grip, and addressed a concerned-looking Clark. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."

"I'm glad." Clark looked relieved. Was he, perhaps, not quite so sure about things, either?

"I'm hungry," Perry said, surprise in his tone. When he said it, I realized I was starving too.

"This is an expected effect of the transformation," Jor-El said pedantically. "Food has been provided." The avatar gestured at our table, where another breakfast waited. We sat down and tucked in. I put away more food than I had thought possible, and felt a little qualm of anxiety. If I needed to eat like this now… well, given the situation on Earth, it was a bad time to be needing more food.

Clark ate with us, with as much appetite. "What did you do?" I asked him.

"Well, after you two left, Bernie woke up, and he and Jor-El spent some time discussing various quirks in the application of the theory. They pulled me into some of the discussions – not that I was much help." He paused to take another bite. I wished we had fresh fruit, but the Fortress could only duplicate what we'd brought into it and passed through its replicator beam. My mouth watered for the bygone variety that had been so easily obtainable in pre-Invasion Metropolis – the sweetness of mangos and strawberries, the tart pucker of cranberries, all the wonderful colors and textures of citrus and melons and peaches and plums and grapes and pineapple and… I deliberately turned my mind away. I was lucky to have something to eat at all. I'd seen the truth of that way too often in the past few years.

But that gave me inspiration. We needed more farms and farmers first thing. And that reminded me of something… "The seed bank," I exclaimed, my fork halfway to my mouth.

The men looked at me. "When we go ahead with the Big Plan," I said, hoping they could hear the capital letters in my voice, "one of the things we have to save is the seed bank. I think it's somewhere in Norway. There are seeds of all sorts – varieties, hybrids, wild seed, obscure seed – you name it, it's there."

Perry frowned. "I remember reading something about that. I think they deliberately put it in the Arctic so that even with a power outage, the permafrost would keep the seeds cold." He looked at me. "Do you remember where it was?"

"Spitsbergen, Norway," said Clark. "You're right, Martha. That seed bank is generations of work." He cast a sober glance at Perry and me. "Now that you mention it, what else should we save? You two are the ones that'll have to do it, you know. Although I'm a farmer's son, your Earth is different than mine."

"Good question, Clark," Perry answered. "What _do _we want to save, Martha?"

It was another flabbergasting question of great import. It was too big to think of all at once, so…. "Well, I think we can agree that the nuked cities will all have to go. Not much to be salvaged there." I caught a look of pain in Clark's eyes as he nodded slowly.

"There are several areas where Zod or the other two used their heat vision – enough so that it's like the area was nuked, except there's no fallout," I said softly, thinking of Jonathan's death and what had happened to Smallville. I met Clark's eyes and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

"You mean like Moscow and Beijing?" Perry asked.

"Uh, yeah." Putting Smallville in that company would have been petty. But Smallville was mine, darn it. Clark didn't want to talk about Smallville either, I saw.

"Well, here's my opinion," Perry said, glancing at us. "We have a small population in a large country. Clark's going to be gone. Communications will be difficult. We've lost our tech base, and we can cannibalize only for so long."

"I'll make sure all the comm satellites are in tip-top shape before I go, Perry," Clark assured him.

"Thanks. But I think, Martha, that we should focus on some infrastructure – roads, bridges, that sort of thing. At least here in North America."

"That sort of thing needs regular maintenance," I pointed out.

"Very true. And we won't have the manpower to keep up. But even if the roads crumble, at least we'll keep the grading and the rights of way. The bridges – well, all we can do is all we can do." Perry asked Clark sardonically, "You wouldn't want to slap a coat of paint on the hundred most important bridges before you go, would you?"

Clark smiled sadly. "I know. If we do this – "

"When we do this," I corrected.

"_When_ we do this, humanity is going to lose a lot."

"Lose a lot of nuked cities and trashed environments," I said harshly.

"OK, Martha, maybe we are replacing slums with virgin land, but we're losing all the leftovers of a technological civilization. Which we have been mining over the past few years to stay alive." Perry reminded us of the recent past.

"I guess Perry and I will have to think hard, then." I had to smile to Clark. "I was never one of those survivalists who sat down and figured out all this ahead of time."

"No," Clark said seriously. "You're not a survivalist. You're a survivor."

There was a moment of silence before Perry said, "I have one suggestion, at least. What you said about the seed bank, Martha?" At my nod, he went on. "There's a warehouse in Metropolis that's a clearing house for machine tools – old, new, simple, complex, you name it. They've got everything there from 1950's lathes to the latest in CNC tooling. Over a million square feet of milling machines, routers, you name it. Plus all the tools you need to work with the tools, plus the sets of standard weights and measures."

"And?" I didn't understand.

"Martha, you need tools to make tools. If we keep Metropolis Machine Tool Auction, that'll be one piece of the puzzle." Perry took a sip of his drink. "Plus, let's not get too maudlin here. Bernie will have all sorts of ideas, and it's not like the people who survived aren't smart. They'll come up with new technology, new ways of doing things. And if they've survived this long, they'll be able to survive now that the climate is back to normal and the world isn't…"

"Pauperized? Denuded of plants and animals?" Clark said bitterly. "Oh, by the way, don't forget to put domestic animals on that list you're making. All the breeds of cattle, and dogs, and sheep and chickens…"

How had I forgotten that? I'd lived on a farm. I knew how important domestic animals were. They turned food we couldn't eat (like forage and hay) into food we could eat (like eggs and beef.) I'd bring that up with Perry later.

"Yes." Perry obviously had no clue about farm animals. Oh well, he was a city boy.

"This is a fairly depressing topic. Let's get off it," I said briskly. "Perry and I will speak with Jor-El. Maybe he'll have some insight about what to keep and what to let go."

"Yeah, considering where he's from," Clark said even more bitterly. "At least your world is still there to save. Not like Krypton."

"I'm sorry. I hadn't meant it like that." I really hadn't. "All I meant, was that maybe he could use his AI knowledge, or… " I trailed off.

"One thing, Clark," Perry said. "Didn't you say that the AI could pinpoint the location of every human on this planet?"

"Yes."

"Aren't most of them in North America?"

"Yes."

"But are there any singleton survivors? Like that guy you got from France? If we go around changing… the environment, won't that affect them? I'm assuming that any survivors would have to be scavenging from the dead cities."

"Not necessarily," Clark said, his eyes narrowed.

"But likely," Perry persisted.

"Yes."

"We need to ask the AI about that. And if there are lone survivors, you have to go and offer them a chance to come to Metropolis, or at least to some group over here. Being the only one left when the world changes has got to be frightening."

"It is," Clark said quietly. That stopped the conversation for a minute.

I brought up a topic which Clark had avoided, but which I thought was perhaps the most important.

"Clark… we have to decide what happens to the Fortress after we… fix things and you go home."

"It'll be your Fortress, Martha. I couldn't think of a better person."

"No!" My denial came instinctively. "I shouldn't have this power. No human being should have this power. I'd be as much a target as you are now, Clark, without your invulnerability."

"I'm sure the Fortress could work out something to protect you."

"You're not getting it, Clark. I don't want that burden." I smiled thinly. "You know… 'power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely'. You think I'm a good person, Clark. But would I be, after years of having this?" I gestured around at the alien structure. "Wouldn't I be tempted to use it to make things better? At least for me and my friends? No, it's a slippery slope. The only way to win is not to get into the game."

"I hate to tell you, Martha, but you're already in the game."

"I want to get out. As soon as you get home, I want the Fortress to self-destruct."

The bald statement produced silence.

Perry nodded slowly. "I'm assuming you want us out of here _before_ it self-destructs, Martha?"

"Um, yeah," I said sheepishly.

"We'll have to work in some sort of delay, then…" I saw Perry's mind racing through scenarios. "What does Jor-El think? He's the one being destroyed."

I felt a frisson of unease. Did our control of the Fortress extend so far?

"Why don't you ask him?" Clark said dryly. His gaze turned inward and I sensed a message through the rudimentary telepathic connection we shared now, even when not linked through the AI.

The avatar appeared at our table. "You have chosen a wise path, Martha Kent," Jor-El said. "Should you maintain control of an extant Fortress, analyses of possible future outcomes indicate a seventy-seven percent chance that you will be assassinated in the first twelve months after Kal-El departs." The AI looked at Perry. "Due to his close companionship with you, there is a ninety-five percent probability that Perry White will be killed as well. These figures are estimates for the first twelve months only."

"Can you extrapolate further out?" I asked, mouth dry.

"The probability of your deaths approaches totality within twenty-four months, if expected trends and human actions remain as projected."

"What would happen then?" Perry asked curiously. Clark, I noticed, had paled.

"The Fortress would separate into its constituent elements and await the coming of another member of the House of El."

"It would be a long time waiting," I muttered.

"But what about the elements?" Clark asked. I remembered those irregularly shaped crystals that had merged to form the "S" shield, and in merging, had caused the Fortress to erupt from the Arctic ice.

"The elements would still be on Earth, and could be combined again. Should they be combined, the Fortress would be re-instantiated." Jor-El's voice contained even less expression than usual.

"Wouldn't that require a member of the House of El?" Perry asked.

Clark broke in. "Yes, supposedly, but I've learned never to underestimate people. They'd work out some way to bypass that, I'm sure. Especially given the stakes involved. Martha, don't you think Lex would put everything he has onto that?"

"Yes." If anyone could figure out how to bypass the Fortress's fail-safes, it would be Lex. And Lex Luthor in control of all this power… Frightening.

"The probability is low but not nullity," the AI conceded.

"And then you wouldn't be here to deal with it," I said to Clark. "We have to close the door, cut off the options. When you go, the Fortress has to go, too. No offense, Jor-El."

"None taken, Martha Kent," the AI replied coolly.

"You're OK with self-destructing?" Perry asked Jor-El straight out. I knew him. He wanted to be sure. He didn't mind being blunt. It came from interviewing politicians.

"This intelligence is not biological and does not have the biological imperative to life. Without the presence of Kal-El or another member of the House of El on this world, my purpose is vitiated. Destruction of the Fortress to prevent its misappropriation is a logical corollary to the current plan."

Jor-El's calm acceptance of suicide quieted us for a moment. I felt sorry. I had feared the Fortress, but just like Clark, once I had gotten to know Jor-El – even if the AI was only a personality copy of the original – I had grown to like him.

"Well, then…" Clark said.

"It looks like we have a lot to plan," I said. "Perry and I will discuss what to keep and what to let go. You know, Perry, we haven't even talked about art treasures and world heritage sites yet. Libraries. Museums. I'm getting tired just thinking about it." Perry grinned. I kept on talking. "Clark, you go around and check on lone survivors. And talk with Dr. Klein if you have to. And, one last thing."

"What?" Clark asked.

"Pack your bags, because you're going home."

The tentative smile on his lips was my reward.


	40. Chapter 40

Clark soared high above Earth's surface, almost tingling with anticipation. Today was the day. He was going to go back home today. He hoped he had gotten everything done.

It had been a busy week. Jor-El had produced a map of all human presences on the planet. Clark was surprised to see how many lone (or two or three in a group) survivors there were. Not everyone had succumbed to Zod's engineered plagues. Clark didn't think that all of the survivors had been exposed to the antidotes – that was impossible. As best he could figure, a few members of every population had natural immunity. They were just lucky that way.

As Martha had suspected, most survivors were making a living by scavenging in the depopulated cities. By now, nine months after the climate had returned to normal, almost all had started gardens. Without exception, though, after the usual fear response to a nearby Kryptonian, they were glad to hear that other humans had survived. Every one of them chose to go to Metropolis.

The one who appreciated Clark the most was Jeri, the woman stuck in the Antarctic research station. She'd been eking out the preserved rations with occasional penguins. She'd shot a seal in the early days but that had been eaten long ago. When Clark took her back to Metropolis, Jeri had impressed everyone with her humor and her courage through her long ordeal.

"I figured I was the last woman on Earth," she'd said. "Then there was a knock at the door." She'd guffawed at the old science-fiction joke. "Clark's my hero. He saved me from another penguin dinner. And let me tell you, penguin isn't tasty." She didn't hesitate to elbow Clark in the ribs as she said this, laughing as she did so.

"How did you find Jeri, anyway?" Chloe had asked curiously. The left side of her face had wrinkled in a questioning attitude. The right side of her face, scarred by Brainiac's burning, kept its shiny immobility.

"Um… well, I was flying around, and I noticed the station, and then when I got lower I could hear her." Clark had fumbled for a plausible reply. He really couldn't tell them that Jor-El had given him the coordinates.

"I'm surprised you could hear her through all the insulation on the research facility," Lex had said coolly. Did his face show a fleeting moment of disquiet?

"Uh… just lucky, I guess."

Lex hadn't quizzed Clark further. Clark was just as glad. If Lex suspected anything, Clark thought, he wouldn't bother with negotiating. Lex would probably try to kill him immediately. Having a bomb put in his abdomen had made Clark think very hard about the kind of person Lex was, and how Lex tended to have backup plans to backup plans.

Was he tracking Clark even now? Clark still carried the tracking device, although Jor-El's technology had made sure that the signal sent from the Arctic Fortress was spoofed as coming from various different places. Clark hoped that Lex didn't bother to track him any more, since he'd been on this world for months, acting unremarkably. (Well, as unremarkably as a Kryptonian using his abilities openly _could _act.)

Then Clark snorted. Of course Lex would be tracking him. He bet that Lex devoted a few minutes every day to the "Clark watch", checking out Clark's itinerary. It might be difficult – Clark sometimes flew so fast or so high that the GPS satellites might have trouble acquiring the signal – but when Clark neared his destination, he'd have to slow down, and the signal would lock on again. So Lex had a pretty good idea of where Clark went every day. And no doubt, he was developing a dossier on Clark's habits. Clark didn't discount the value of long-term data-gathering and patient analysis of the acquired information. Newspaper reporter Chloe had taught him that.

And what about the spy satellites? Those still existed. Martha said that Bruce Wayne had been the Resistance member who used them the most, but Clark thought that Lex could access their feed. Although he wasn't sure about that, and he certainly didn't want to ask Lex. What if they'd seen the Fortress arise? What if they'd seen it, up there in the Arctic? It certainly couldn't be mistaken for any human structure. Besides, who would build up there in the Arctic?

Clark shivered. The Fortress had been bare, exposed to the clear Arctic sky for twenty-four hours before he thought about Lex and the satellites and ordered the AI to conceal the Fortress under permanent cloud cover. It was the one weather manipulation he allowed himself. Zod's Fortress had changed the Earth's climate. Clark refused to do that. But Clark wouldn't destroy the satellites either. Not only would that be a violation of his promise, not only would it arouse suspicion, but the remnant of Earth's population _needed _the information from those satellites.

But he could protect himself without doing any damage to the ecosphere or to the weather and spy satellites. So the clouds remained, shielding the Fortress from the eyes in the sky. Clark remembered those first twenty-four hours, though. If Lex reviewed the feed for that day, or if he got a suspicion that he _should _review the feed, things would not be good.

And it wasn't just Lex. Clark didn't know if others besides Bruce Wayne had access to the visual imagery too, and while someone might not recognize the Fortress as alien and Kryptonian, they would certainly understand that it was out of the ordinary. And there were enough Resistance members left who knew about Zod's Fortress…

Frankly, Clark knew he had been on a deadline since the Fortress re-instantiated. He didn't want to lose the opportunity he had to get back to his own world, but he didn't want to – he _wouldn't_ – get into a… dispute with anyone either. And if Lex found out about the Fortress, without a doubt there would be a dispute. Clark would have to defend himself, or be killed. Martha had bluntly pointed that out. Clark had known it without her needing to say so.

So Clark was glad that they were making progress on their grand plan. He, Jor-El, Martha, and Perry would restore the Earth. Then Martha and Perry would get back to safety in Metropolis. Clark would go through the "window" to his own world, and the automated destruction of the Fortress would commence.

They had decided that Clark leaving this world would be the trigger. Clark's departure would set up an irreversible "meltdown" which would end in total destruction of the Fortress and its seed elements. Unlike Zod's Fortress, Clark's Fortress would not scatter its elements around the Earth and go dormant, waiting for a member of the House of El. No, Clark's Fortress would be gone. Destroyed. Kaput. Razed to the ground. There would be no restoring, no chance for some clever human to bypass the security protocols and re-instantiate the Fortress under his control. All traces of Kryptonian presence on Earth would be gone. Gone as it if had never existed, the changed Earth its own tombstone. And the greatly reduced human population and destroyed civilization would be its only memorial.

Clark realized he had slowed down during his reverie. He sped up, heading to Gloria's. He'd been there every day, picking up Bernie Klein in the mornings. He never went inside the apartment building, respecting Gloria's prohibition. They didn't insult him by telling him that Gloria had forbidden him access, and he kept up his side of the unspoken bargain by not asking to go in. Bernie met him at the apartment entrance every day, eager to come to the Fortress and work with Jor-El. The two scientists had developed great mutual respect for each other. Dr. Klein, Clark thought, would be the person who would miss the Fortress the most.

The members of Gloria's colony looked at Clark askance each morning when he lifted off with Bernie, but no one said anything. It might have been because Clark brought food every day – large quantities of canned goods and military MRE's, ostensibly from foraging, but in reality, created by the Fortress's molecular replicators. 'Payment for Bernie's services' was the way Clark described it to the gate guards and the cautious group of gawkers that came out to watch him fly.

But, Clark thought cynically, more likely no one protested because no one wanted to cross him. He was a Kryptonian. Maybe he acted politely, but everyone knew what Kryptonians could do. And this Kryptonian wanted Bernie's company. Klein didn't object, and the good doctor returned to the colony every evening (he tended to go back through the portal, as Clark had to go and do his own tasks after dropping Bernie at the Fortress.) Similarly, no one questioned his sudden reappearance at Gloria's.

So it was easier and more profitable for the colony just to let Bernie go with Clark. And that way, no one got lasered to death by heat vision because they said "No" to the Kryptonian. Clark could practically follow the thoughts of the other colony members from the way they looked at him and their stilted conversation while he waited for Bernie.

Interestingly, Gloria had not shown up and forbidden Bernie to go with Clark. Perhaps she knew it was a battle she couldn't win. In fact, Clark hadn't seen Gloria at all since she'd told him he wasn't welcome. Clark felt a mean little satisfaction every time he flouted her "no Kryptonian contact" policy. After all, he was taking Bernie away for the day, and he was talking with colony members. Maybe the conversations were superficial, but at least there was talking.

It seemed that Gloria had put her foot down in one way, though. Clark never saw Miranda or any of the other youngsters when he picked up Bernie, after that first time. The children never saw him waiting at the gate for Bernie, never saw him lifting off and flying away. Clark had surreptitiously scanned the apartment building with his deep vision one morning and had winced to see the colony's children ensconced in an inner room, with all entrances festooned with kryptonite.

Oh well. There was nothing he could do about it, not unless he felt like debating Gloria again. He already knew how futile that would be. Once he was gone, once the Big Bad Kryptonian had departed this Earth, perhaps Gloria would concede that she no longer needed the meteor rock for protection. Clark only hoped that none of the colony members had been infected. How and why someone became a meteor mutant was unknown. Duration of exposure to the rock didn't matter – some of the "meteor freaks" in Smallville had been exposed for years, some only for minutes. There was no telling. The only consistent factor was that four-fifths of the mutants "went bad".

Clark sighed as he gently landed at the apartment building. It went against his natural inclination to help, but if someone in Gloria's colony became a meteor mutant and went bad, the humans and metahumans on this earth would have to deal with it on their own. There would be no Clark Kent swooping in to save the day, as he had so often in his own Smallville. He was leaving. Today was the day. It was odd, how today was so much like every other day on this alternate Earth. Except that today, for once, Clark had something to look forward to.

Jack was the gate guard today. His eyes widened as Clark landed, even though he'd seen the sight before. Clark surreptitiously scanned the man for kryptonite and saw none. He put on his best smile and approached.

"Hi, Jack."

"Hi, Clark."

"How are things?"

"OK."

A moment of silence.

"Um, I'm here to pick up Bernie." It was odd. Usually Bernie was right there waiting for him, or the gate guard would call indoors and Klein would come right out.

"Oh, didn't he meet you?"

"What?"

"He said he was going to take the portal and he'd meet you. What's the portal?"

Clark paled. Way to go at keeping the secret, Bernie.

"Um… I've told him a few things about Kryptonian technology, and you know Bernie. A little research project. He's, uh, working on some experiment." The excuse sounded incredibly lame to Clark. "He said he'd meet me?"

"That's what he said."

"Well, I guess I'd better meet him. Bye, Jack."

"Bye, Clark." Their superficial conversation terminated, Clark lifted off. It didn't take superpowers for him to hear Jack's sigh of relief.

* * *

Clark sped to the Fortress. Dr. Klein was there, chatting with Jor-El as usual.

"Bernie," Clark said accusingly, "you told everyone at Gloria's you were leaving by the portal. I thought you were going to keep this a secret."

Bernie looked at Clark uncomprehendingly. Clark had interrupted a ferocious colloquy with the AI.

Clark repeated himself. "The portal? It was going to be our secret?"

"Oh!" Bernie shrugged. "I'm sorry, Clark. Since you're leaving so soon, it didn't seem to matter. And I wanted to get here early and talk with Jor-El before you go." That speech was a miracle of conciseness from the usually loquacious Klein. He turned back to Jor-El, obviously dismissing Clark. Then Bernie slapped his forehead and spoke to Clark again. "Oh yeah, Martha called. She wants you to pick her up in Metropolis." Quickly he turned back to Jor-El.

What was up with Martha? Why hadn't she taken her portal? Worry crawled through Clark and without bothering to take his leave of the two scientists, he soared into the sky and flew to Metropolis as fast as he could.

The awareness that he always had of Martha, though, didn't suggest that she was in pain or distress. Their link guided him to the _Daily Planet _penthouse office, where Perry waved him in at the window. Martha sat on one of the office chairs near Perry's desk. She looked fine.

"Is everything OK?" Clark asked anxiously. "You weren't at the Fortress. Bernie told me to meet you here."

"Everything is fine, Clark," Martha said. "I wanted you to fly me to the Fortress instead of taking the portal."

"Why?"

"Because when you're gone, there will be no more flying, and… I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss it."

"Oh." Clark studied Martha. It came to him that he had done Perry and her a gross disservice. Clark had often thought of leaving this world, and he thought in terms of getting away. Getting away from Lex Luthor, who had implanted a bomb in his belly. Getting away from the Council members who had voted to kill him. Getting away from a dead, blasted world – although he was going to fix that before he left.

He hadn't thought – or he hadn't let himself think – of the friends he would be losing. He would miss the group at Gloria's – even though they were antsy around him now, they knew about and were grateful for everything he'd done for them. He'd miss the people on his "paper route", who gladly greeted him every week when he brought them their copies of the _Daily Planet_. He'd miss the other _Planet _reporters, with whom, despite the inevitable awkwardness, he shared a certain professional camaraderie.

And he would miss Perry, who had become a good friend. Perry, who was many things: the crusty editor, the stern teacher, the man who taught Clark much about surviving – and not just surviving, _living_ – during hard times.

He would miss Martha most of all. After all, she was a counterpart of his mother, the woman who had first met him in fear and hate, and whom he now loved as much as he loved his own mother. Martha, who knew him inside and out, as well as he knew her. They had taken each other's measure, learned each other's essential strength, during their travels together. He knew her inner steel. Suddenly he realized he was leaving the one person he knew better than anyone on any world. It went beyond the word "friend."

"What's going to happen to you after I'm gone?" Clark blurted out. He hadn't thought of that before, either. Or else he hadn't let himself think of it.

Martha shrugged. "I assume I'll continue my work as the judicial branch of government here in Metropolis. Perry will be the editor in chief of the _Daily Planet._" She smiled. "We're going to get married."

"Congratulations!" Clark broke into a big smile too. He felt better, somehow. "I'm sorry I won't make it to the wedding."

"No offense, Clark," Perry said, "but we were deliberately waiting until you left. Then we'd get married and settle down into a nice boring life."

"Right now, boring sounds good," Martha agreed. "I've lived in, ah, interesting times for the past four years, and all I can say is that it's time for _boring_ again."

"I can understand that," Clark conceded.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll ever have to worry about boring," Perry said. "Just because of who you are."

"Yeah. I guess so." He feared Perry was right. Sure, he'd had a mostly uneventful childhood, but ever since he'd grown up and found that he was an alien, things had been happening.

He got up and started to pace. Wanting to change the subject, Clark asked about their upcoming job. "Did you two settle on a plan? You know, what to keep, what to let go?"

It was Martha who replied, after meeting Perry's eyes. "After a long discussion – several long discussions, and talking with Jor-El, and asking 'hypothetical' questions and getting just about everyone in Metropolis's opinions, yes."

"Care to tell me?"

"You'll see it when we do it. I think you'll be happy with what the Earth will look like when we're all done. We're keeping some stuff that will help us avoid a technological collapse, hopefully. Other things… well, this world is going to look a lot different."

"I'm sorry I'll miss it."

"No you're not, Clark. You want to get home."

"Well, yes, I do." Clark shifted from foot to foot. "I was trying to be polite."

Everyone laughed.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do when you get home?" Perry asked.

"Only about ten million times," Clark said. "I've spent more time daydreaming about what I'd do if I were back in my own world than I'd like to admit." He sat down again, speaking frankly to the other two. "Of course, most of that was right after I landed in this world. Then for a long time, I put thoughts of going home out of my head, because why torment myself? It wasn't till after the Fortress re-instantiated that I actually dared to hope."

"'Dared to hope.' That's a good way of putting it."

"That's how I felt," Clark said simply. He met Martha's eyes and they shared a thought. She had dared to hope that he wasn't a Kryptonian like Zod, and her hopes had been rewarded.

"So, what are you going to do?" Martha asked. "Back there in your world that's full of people?"

"Full of people who don't know I'm an alien?"

"Well, yes."

"One thing is that I'm going to keep flying." Clark was firm on that. "It's too much fun not to."

"Are you going to wear the costume, then?" Martha asked, looking at Clark's skin-tight garb bearing the El symbol.

Clark shrugged. "Yes. It might be garish but it holds up when I'm flying fast." He grinned suddenly. "I've learned something from Jor-El. Want to see it?"

Perry and Martha nodded.

Clark didn't respond in words. Instead, he began to spin. To their eyes, he knew, he was an indistinguishable blur. He reached out with his mind the way Jor-El had taught him… fixed on that particular dimension… felt it interpolate… completed his task. He stopped spinning and came to a halt facing Perry and Martha.

His skin-tight spandex had been replaced by t-shirt and jeans and a light jacket.

Perry's jaw dropped. "How did you do that?"

"He must have changed clothes at super-speed," Martha said.

"Yes, and no," Clark explained. "It's a trick. Well, not really a trick, but sort of. And no, I'm not changing my clothes if you define it as physically removing a piece of clothing."

Martha's and Perry's eyes revealed their incomprehension.

"It's a mini-dimensional transfer, just like we're doing on the macro scale at the Fortress," Clark explained. "I thought about it this week after all the practice." He took on a pedantic tone. "Since the number of other universes is uh, infinite, I asked Jor-El to look for one that was, oh, I guess you'd call it just a potential space. It's really small, just big enough for me to stash my clothing. It doesn't take all that much energy to locate and make a window into that other dimension. In fact, I can do it with, um, my body energy or my personal strength, or whatever."

"So why the spinning?" Perry asked.

"Spinning helps me focus, and it helps me direct the energy properly. I don't really need to spin. If I wanted to, I could tap into that other dimension while I was sitting still. Then items from that other universe are layered onto and interpolated into our own universe, and stuff from here is transferred there."

"So your clothes…"

"It's a quick exchange. I keep the flying suit in the other dimension and when I need it I just, well, spin and find."

"Do that again," Martha said, fascinated. "Don't spin this time."

"OK." Clark marshaled his concentration and made the mental adjustment to locate the other universe and change his clothing. Familiarity eased the way. He'd already done this about thirty or forty times. It didn't even hurt anymore to anchor to this new universe. Perhaps the frequent opening of a trans-universal window softened the rough edges? Or maybe what was because this was such a _small_ universe?

"Wow," Martha said, looking at Clark who now wore the spandex. "That just melted onto you."

"Pretty nice," Perry said. "Can you do it in super-speed?"

Clark smiled. In the blink of an eye he was out of the Suit and back into his jeans and t-shirt.

"I didn't even see you blur," Martha marveled. Her brow furrowed. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?"

"Oliver was right. You're going to have to get red boots now."

"What?"

"It's obvious," Martha said. "You don't have to worry about carrying your clothes anymore, so it doesn't matter what kind of shoes you're wearing. You can switch them out for the boots. And Oliver must be obeyed in fashion matters."

Perry had burst out laughing by the time Martha finished talking. "No excuses anymore, Clark."

"OK," Clark said. "When I get to the other world, I promise I'll wear red boots when I'm wearing the Suit." He laughed too.

"When you go home, you mean," Martha said. Was there longing in her tone?

Clark leaned forward. "Martha, do you want to go there? Perry? You could come with me."

They looked at each other. This time it was Perry who took the lead. "I won't say we haven't thought about that too, Clark. It's tempting."

"At times," Martha clarified.

Perry went on. "Yes, sometimes. But we've decided that we're going to stay. We're the ones who are making the new world. It wouldn't be right to run out on that."

"Besides, with everything we've been through," Martha added, "it feels wrong to go. We've changed. We wouldn't fit into that other world now."

Clark nodded. He knew what they meant. He wondered if _he _would fit into his home world now.

"Besides," Perry added, "can you see us meeting our counterparts? I'm not sure I'm ready to meet myself. And what would we do about a job? There can't be two Senator Kents running around." He chuckled. "No, Clark, we'll stay here. We're going to rebuild."

Clark nodded. "I should have asked you this before."

Martha studied him. "Why? We would have said the same things." She met his gaze. "Did you feel that you didn't want to talk about it before it happened? You might jinx things?"

Clark smiled ruefully. "Got it in one. So many crazy things happen around me… I still can't believe we've made it this far and there's only a few hours before I can go home."

Perry stood. "No sense in lingering, then. Let's get to work." He grinned. "We've got to save the world."

Clark and Martha arose too. Perry came over to Martha and kissed her lightly. "See you at the Fortress." He strode over to the executive washroom. A moment later, a muted flash of light indicated the portal to the Fortress had been activated.

"Are you ready?" Clark asked his mother's counterpart. What a difference time had made. The first time he had met her, she had cowered in fear. Now she stood tall, moving toward him to join him in a daring plan to use alien technology to restore the Earth. "Ready to fly?"

"Last time," she murmured, and nodded. He picked her up, and walked them to the windows. It was the work of a moment to open the window and step outside. He stayed suspended in midair on the other side of the window as he closed it.

* * *

I looked down at the streets of Metropolis, forty-five stories below. "Not that I don't appreciate the view, but don't you think we'd better get going?"

Clark surprised me. He met my eyes and murmured, "I'll miss you, Martha."

I swallowed. I would miss Clark too – and not for just the flying. "Me too," I muttered. Then I forced myself to speak up. "Don't think about that, Clark. Think about going home."

"I have been."

"Do you know what you're going to do when you get home?"

"Well, there's a lot of stuff. Jor-El tells me he can put me back at the exact time and place I left, so the months spent over here won't, uh, count over there."

"Interesting." What else could I say?

"I've got to deal with Brainiac over there – he's trying to keep me, I mean me as a baby, my spaceship, from ever leaving Krypton. And I have to deal with the Fortress – I mean the Fortress over there. It was contaminated with Genevieve Teague's blood, and that's why it's so, uh, odd."

"So what are you going to do about that?" My blood chilled at the thought of the Fortress being _odd_. The more I learned about what our Fortress could do, the more it scared me that any Fortress might be out of control. It was almost worse than the rogue Kryptonians. Almost.

"Jor-El, the Jor-El over here, has updated me on a procedure. Basically, it'll involve a re-boot, a re-instantiation of that Fortress with clean elements."

"I thought the controllers of a Fortress had to be dead before it could break down into its constituent elements."

"Not so, although it's tricky. I think I can do it." Clark fell silent. "Of course, I have to deal with Brainiac first." He chuckled. "After all that, I might think of going home, seeing my family and friends."

"What will you tell them about your time here? Or, _will _you tell them about your time here?"

"Yes. My mother, at least. Probably Chloe. You realize, Martha, I'll be back in a world where I'm just a Kansas farmboy." His voice, at the last phrase, was an interesting combination of humorous and cynical. "Yep, I'll be going back to keeping my secret."

"Hmm." I didn't know how I felt about that. I almost felt like I should warn the other world there was an alien living in their midst. The old Martha Clark would have done that in a heartbeat. The new Martha… well, she wouldn't want to mess up Clark's life. It was a moot point. I wasn't going to that other world.

And, on that thought, we were descending into the Fortress. Clark landed us gently, and set me down just as gently. I looked at the other people who were there for our Operation Fix The Earth and greeted them.

"Perry. Bernie. Hello." And what – no, who was this? My jaw dropped. I knew her. How had she ever gotten here? "Hello, Miranda."

Clark said it for me. "What are you doing here?" He looked as close to angry as I'd ever seen him.

"I've come to watch. Dr. Klein said I could," Miranda smiled shyly.

Clark cast Bernie a _What were you thinking? _look and spoke through gritted teeth. "Bernie?"

Klein shuffled and avoided Clark's eyes. "Well…"

"Oh, don't blame Dr. Klein," Miranda said brightly. "I told him that you said it was OK."

I had to choke off a laugh. Miranda already was well-versed in playing the '_the other person said I could' _card. What did it matter? Clark was leaving today and we'd all be back to Metropolis in a few hours. I actually felt a little sympathy toward the curious teen. The last time I'd seen her, I'd hit her in the face to buy us a plausible alibi.

Clark seemed much more worked up. I was rather blasé, but then again, this wasn't my one chance at going home. The stakes were higher for Clark. He gave me one fulminating glance before he glared at Miranda again. She made matters worse by adding, "I've been here all week!"

Clark looked like he was about to have some kind of fit. Perry, I could tell, was barely restraining a laugh.

"I've been in and out of here all week too," Clark managed to say pointedly. "How come I didn't see you here?" He didn't seem to doubt Miranda's claim, I noticed.

"I asked Jor-El to keep me hidden."

Clark's eyes met mine. All kidding aside, this was serious. The AI of the Fortress was talking to her, and obeying her commands? Clark bellowed, "Jor-El!" and the avatar appeared.

"Yes, Kal-El?"

"Please explain how this… this girl has been coming to the Fortress without my knowledge and what she's been doing here."

"The child was admitted under the aegis of Dr. Bernard Klein," Jor-El stated calmly. "She requested instruction. I have complied."

"Bernie?" I asked. "How was Bernie able to allow that?"

Jor-El said nothing directly, merely played back a hologram of Clark giving instructions. _"Jor-El," Clark sent, "if Bernie needs food, or water, or a bed or anything, just get it for him." _

_ "Yes, Kal-El," the avatar replied. _

"I followed your instructions, Kal-El," the AI said, almost smugly.

"All right. It was my fault," Clark admitted. He glared at Miranda again. "The Fortress never should have let you in."

"What have you been learning?" I cut across Clark and asked Miranda.

"Um… basic mathematical theory… multidimensional analysis… " To my dismay, Miranda switched to Kryptonian. "Matrices and vector conjugation… n-s space alpha boundary recognition…"

Clark recognized the language shift too. He paled. "You let her have the Kryptonian download?" I didn't know if he was more appalled with Bernie or Jor-El. He seemed to be yelling at both of them equally.

"According to your orders, Kal-El, Dr. Klein was to have what he wanted. He indicated that he wanted the girl kept quiet. She said that she would keep quiet if she could learn, so I took over her tutoring," Jor-El said righteously. Bernie looked guilty. The avatar smiled in a fatherly way. "The child is intelligent and her education proceeds apace."

Clark actually seemed speechless.

Perry asked, "So all the time Martha and I were here, discussing things with you, Miranda was hidden away here in the Fortress? You were tutoring her?"

"Discussions with you and Martha Kent use but a fraction of my capacity," the avatar sniffed. It was definitely time to destroy this Fortress, I thought. Jor-El was getting an attitude.

"All right! All right!" Clark exploded. "Is there anything else I should know? Any other visitors to the Fortress? Any other people getting their Kryptonian ABC's here?" His face had actually turned red, I noticed.

"No, I'm it," Miranda said. Despite the danger she'd flirted with, in getting involved in Kryptonian business, it was hard to be angry at her. Maybe it was the way she looked at Clark. Clark was the only one who couldn't (or maybe he didn't want to) see it. She had a definite crush on him. She wanted him to notice her.

Clark thought about what Miranda had said. The color retreated from his face. "So, if you've been coming here all week, what excuse have you given Gloria?" He paid her the compliment of addressing her directly, ignoring Bernie who stood sheepishly by the side.

"Oh, I didn't have to give Gloria any excuses," Miranda said. "She knows where I am."

_"What?"_ This time Perry and I joined with Clark. It was Clark who went on. "You promised." I could tell he was very disappointed with Miranda.

"It wasn't me. I didn't say anything," Miranda said virtuously. "My mother noticed that my appendectomy scar was gone. I wouldn't say anything, so she went to Gloria. Gloria found out from Dr. Klein." Bernie shuffled even more and didn't meet anyone's eyes. "Gloria said that when you found out, you weren't supposed to blame Bernie." Miranda leaned forward and whispered, "When Gloria starts asking you questions, it's really hard not to answer her."

"So Gloria extracted everything Bernie knows about this Fortress?" It was Perry who said that, resignedly. Without waiting for Miranda or Bernie to answer, he went on. "Why did she let you come here, then? As I understand it, Gloria hates Kryptonians?"

"She does. But she doesn't know how nice Clark is," Miranda confided.

Clark only sighed.

"She told me I had to learn everything I could, because we needed to know more about the Kryptonian technology. And I should bring back anything I could, but I couldn't bring back anything. Jor-El said there wasn't anything he could give me, except knowledge." Miranda paused to take a breath. "And Gloria said for Dr. Klein not to say anything to you."

I took a look at Bernie, and he gave a guilty nod. I almost felt sorry for him, caught between the devil of Gloria and the deep blue sea of his wish to maintain access to Jor-El. Clark and I exchanged glances. We both knew that Klein… _burbled_. Asking him to keep quiet was like asking water not to flow over Niagara Falls. The man wanted to share knowledge. It was just the way he was.

"Dr. Klein said it would only be for a week or so, and Gloria said that was OK," Miranda prattled on, "Gloria said that was a good thing and I should learn all I could. I told her Clark was leaving soon and she said that was a good thing too, and he shouldn't let the door hit him on the ass on the way out."

Perry broke into a series of coughs that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter. I had to smile. Clark only sighed again. "Bernie?" he said.

"Clark, um… well, a lot of times when you were here, I really had forgotten Miranda was here too, because she was off with Jor-El, and I hardly knew she was here… "

Clark sighed. He shook his head. I saw him meet my eyes with the knowledge: _that's Bernie. _ "Well, since you're here, Miranda, and it would take more time to take you back, you might as well stay."

"Yes!" Miranda stopped herself from pumping her fist just in time. I wondered if Clark's reasoning was true. Sure, it would take time for him to fly her back to Gloria's. But shoving her back through the portal wouldn't take any time at all. Also, there was no point. The secret was out with a vengeance. With the sensitivity we'd developed, I knew that Clark was letting her stay because Miranda wanted to stay, and it would make her happy. Miranda was right – Clark was nice.

Clark straightened his shoulders. New determination entered his voice. "If everyone is ready…" Everyone was. "Then let's get started."


	41. Chapter 41

**Once again, sincere thanks to my betas, Artemis and Leela, who have made this fic much better by their careful reading and cogent remarks.

* * *

**

Clark organized us. If you looked down at the main level of the Fortress from above, the control console stood at what could be called the twelve o'clock position. Clark stayed there, near the controls. The portal entrance back to Kansas was at about six o'clock, and Bernie and Miranda were placed right next to it, about seven o'clock. Perry and I were set at about eight o'clock, and Jor-El would manifest himself at four. We had previously arranged that large screens would be set up at the ten-o'clock position for Bernie to view and record Earth's transformation. Bernie really had no place here, now, but none of us could deny him the right to witness what he'd helped make happen. Miranda was an unexpected bonus – or irritant, depending on the way you looked at it.

And finally, at two o'clock, was the "dimensional window" to Clark's home world. We had agreed that Clark would open his escape route before anything else was done. I had insisted upon this. I had nightmares about Clark doing everything he needed to restore our Earth, and then not having enough energy left to get back to his own world. That would be bad. Once our Earth began changing, everyone who had any experience would know that the only thing which could do that was the Kryptonian Fortress. The presence of the Fortress would be construed as Clark breaking his promises. If he stayed on this world, Clark would have a price on his head. Once we showed our hand, Clark had to leave as quickly as possible.

Clark had agreed, but only at the price of designating our Earth's repair as the highest priority item. Setting up his escape route might come first, but he would make sure he left our Earth better than it was before he came.

I stood at my position, holding hands with Perry, both of us nervous but determined. Clark stood by the control console, straight and tall. I looked over to see Bernie and Miranda staring curiously at the Fortress and the avatar of Jor-El, who stood impassively at his station, not speaking.

"Just a minute," I said. I let go of Perry's hand and crossed the Fortress's width to Clark. Perry followed me. Clark awaited me, curious.

I hugged him. My head barely came up to his chest, and I knew he had strength much greater than mine. I still held him tight, hearing the heartbeat I'd heard so many times when he carried me as he ran or flew me somewhere. That first time he'd carried me, even when I'd been so afraid of him, I'd felt safe deep down inside.

I let him go and looked up at him. "I'll miss you."

Clark nodded. After a minute, he was able to choke out some words. "I'll miss you too." He gathered me in for another hug. I felt the precise control he had, the care he took not to hurt me. He was so different from the other Kryptonians. I hadn't recognized it at first, and I'd feared him. Now I knew the kind of man he was and how my life had been changed by knowing him. I whispered it, knowing he would hear me. "I wish you had been my son."

He stiffened in surprise. Through our emotional connection, I _felt _his love, his caring, and his determination to protect me. He leaned down to whisper back. "I always thought I was." He hugged me close once again.

Perry came up, and offered Clark his hand. "I didn't know what to expect of you that first time I saw you floating down from the skies carrying Martha."

"How'd I do?"

Perry gave him a long, respectful handshake. "You've done better than I thought anyone could."

"Thank you, Perry, for… well, for everything." Clark gestured around him, somehow including me, and the Fortress. "Thanks for all the training. Maybe I can't put it on my resume, but I'll always know that you taught me to be a _Daily Planet _reporter."

Perry nodded. "And don't you forget it. It took me a long time to whip you into shape. I'd hate to think all that time was wasted."

"It won't be." The two men looked at each other for a minute, and then they met in an awkward man-hug.

Bernie and Miranda came to us. Clark turned to Klein and held out his hand. "Bernie, I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the work you've done." Clark shook Bernie's hand. "You have the crystal and the viewer?" After a lot of pleading, Clark and I had decided to allow Bernie to take copies of his chats with Jor-El. The data were recorded in a Kryptonian crystal, and Clark had persuaded Jor-El to disgorge a viewer, albeit one limited to Bernie's access only. I wondered if that was wise, given our goal of removing all traces of Kryptonian occupation, but trying to remove data from Bernie was like trying to take away a steak from a starving tiger.

The confused scientist retrieved his hand and wiggled the digits. "Uh… yes," Klein managed to say.

"Good," Clark replied. "Now, Bernie, don't be making any transuniversal dimension hoppers just yet. I think you'll have plenty to do on this Earth. They'll need a man of your credentials."

Bernie smiled thinly. He'd really miss the Fortress and his talks with Jor-El. We all knew it.

Clark turned to Miranda. "Miranda, all I can say is… " Clark trailed off in frustration. "You know, you should really try to stay out of trouble. The next invading alien probably won't be as easygoing as I am."

Miranda giggled. She leaned forward and she shyly hugged Clark. "Thank you for saving my life. Twice."

For once, Clark didn't look away in embarrassment or shuffle his feet. Instead, he met Miranda's eyes and gravely said, "You're welcome."

"I told Gloria when you get back to your own world, you're going to save a lot of peoples' lives!" The kid was irrepressible.

This time it was Clark's turn to smile thinly, but I saw the spark of interest in his eyes. Miranda had set off a train of thought.

He looked around at the rest of us. There was regret in his expression, certainly, regret that he would be leaving, but a greater anticipation. Unlike us, Clark was going home. In unspoken agreement, our little gathering broke up, and we went to our places.

Perry held my hand. He felt me tremble. "It's just another job, Martha," he said reassuringly.

"Yes." I tried to match his composure.

Clark glanced at us, at Jor-El, at Bernie and Miranda. Once again he stood straight and tall, next to the control console. When I first came here, this collection of tubes and crystals had been… well, _alien _to me. Now I knew it as well as I knew my piano keyboard. Better, in fact, given that I hadn't practiced the piano in four years.

Clark nodded. Jor-El's hologram avatar winked out. The tendrils of the telepathic connection strengthened and grew. With experience had come greater familiarity in knowing the other. I felt Perry's rock-like solidity first, Clark's tossing sea second, and Jor-El's leashed fire last. Did I feel like air to them, I wondered, soft and yielding?

I hadn't realized that Clark caught my unspoken musing. _"No,"_ he thought back at me, _"not soft and yielding. You are life-supporting and nurturing, but with the power of the thunder." _

Jor-El cycling up the Fortress distracted me. I _felt _his exertion in my bones. I never knew the exact amount of energy expenditure needed to open the path between the worlds but I knew the amount needed was prodigious. And the feat was difficult, even for an instantiated Artificial Intelligence with all the power and majesty of Kryptonian technology behind him.

I _felt _when Clark took over the control of the search, and how he seemed inexorably drawn to an Earth that seemed so very familiar. I looked through Clark's eyes and saw an unburned Smallville, an intact Kent Farm, a Lowell County bustling with people. Clark anchored our searching probe there, without the usual stab of pain it cost him. I could feel his longing, the attraction, his desire to step through that portal and go back to his own Earth. And then I felt his determination. He would not go home until he had helped us fix _our_ home. His way home awaited him, but he would stay till his task on our world was finished.

Leaving a piece of the Fortress "there" on his Earth to anchor our portal, Clark took control of the search again and leapt away. He went far from similar Earths, discarding worlds right and left. I caught just glimpses of some of the worlds Clark declined to enter – worlds where there were no cities, only small villages where the inhabitants scratched in the mud; worlds where humans only hunted and gathered; and worlds where no true humans existed, where australopithecines roamed the veldt of Africa.

Finally, Clark reached a sheaf of alternate Earths very far away from ours. He picked one, and arrowed us to it. Without asking him, I knew that no intelligent life had arisen here. Here was Nature, red in tooth and claw, not restrained by human engineering. Here was primeval wilderness, and forest, and savannah, and icepack, and rainforest, and every other biome that our Earth had once possessed but had lost during the Kryptonian occupation.

Clark brought our search probe to this world and anchored it there. He said nothing, although I felt an echo of the pain that coursed through him, pain worse due to the distance of this Earth from our own. I felt his pride as he checked with Jor-El and realized he had mirrored the location of Metropolis.

_"Martha? Perry?" _Clark contacted us. _"It's your turn now." _He awaited us.

I turned to Perry. _"Ready?"_ I asked him wordlessly. He nodded.

We dove into the Lake of Keeping and Letting Go. We had decided to start with Metropolis, because it was the most complex area and had the most people. We would do it when we were freshest.

Of course, when the inhabitants saw the terrain changing around them, saw the destroyed skyscrapers of Metropolis melting away and being replaced by Kansas prairie, they would know something was up. But we were half a world away in the Fortress, and they could do nothing to us.

Perry and I supported each other as Jor-El cast his "field" around Metropolis and its surrounding environs. There were so _many _things built by and modified by humans. It was almost overwhelming.

Then our practice came to mind, and we began. People first. We set up a filter, a guard. No human would be allowed to slip into the other world. We put cordons around Metropolis base and the _Daily Planet _building. Perhaps it was favoritism, but we had decided that first off. We would not lose those.

I felt Perry laugh in glee as we came to the Metropolis Public Library. We kept the great stone lions that guarded its entrance. We kept the collection – so many books! And while I was here, in this strange state, I knew them all. I laughed too, at the wonderful human knowledge waiting there. Perhaps it wasn't as extensive as the knowledge of the twenty-eight galaxies contained here in the Fortress of Solitude, but it was _our _knowledge.

Without a word, we lifted our hand and sent millions of automobiles out of our world. Stalled cars, cars whose gas had long ago been siphoned away, delivery trucks, semis – all left us. Along with the cars, most of the roads dissolved away. We kept some major throughways.

Thousands of destroyed homes slipped into the other world, replaced with prairie landscape. I barely regretted the loss of all of the detritus of modern life – furnaces and air conditioners, kitchens and living rooms, furniture and TVs and pots and pans. Shops, too, left us, their time clocks and computer terminals vanishing away.

We kept the Metropolis Machine Tool Auction Warehouse.

Whatever Jor-El had done to us to increase our stamina had proved its worth. Perry and I finished dealing with the millions of human artifacts in the Metropolis area. Before, dealing with a smaller area had caused crushing exhaustion. Now I wasn't tired at all.

Perry and I indicated we'd finished in both words and thought. Clark nodded. I felt him disengage the power of the Fortress from this world, and go searching again. It took only seconds before he found another alternate world for us to plunder – excuse me, _exchange_. There was the usual stab of pain as he locked us down to this new world, and then it was time for Perry and me to go back to work.

We spiraled away from Metropolis in gradually increasing (and irregular) circles. The territory we exchanged grew greater each time as we grew more familiar with our task. And, to be fair, it wasn't all us. Jor-El, although he could not affect what human-made artifacts we kept and what we let slip into the alternate world, helped us with various filters that automatically sent things here or there. Clark moved us from new world to new world, stoically enduring the pain.

Perry and I _knew _where every surviving human in North America was, for we changed the world around them. We exchanged the entire Great Lakes basin in one mammoth switch, sending away the irradiated ruins of Chicago and sterile Lake Michigan. We eliminated the hydroelectric plant at Lake Erie, and the full majesty of Niagara Falls – no longer half diverted - once again would astound visitors. The Soo Locks, the Welland Canal, the Erie Canal – all the human-made modifications to those great inland freshwater seas - all gone. Iron ore was plentiful again in the Mesabi range, and copper in Michigan's Upper Peninsula would be found again in large nuggets – our switch of territory included minerals and ore, everything that was underground. The destroyed cities of Detroit, Toronto, Cleveland and Buffalo faded away, sent to alternate worlds.

The Grand Canyon stayed much the same, losing only the evidence of human intrusion. The East Coast became a new world, the ruined cities and radioactive dead spots replaced by virgin territory. We kept the small un-ruined part of Gotham City for the human remnant there.

Onward and onward… one time, while waiting for Clark to take the Fortress to another world, I saw Bernie and Miranda, staring in fascination at the viewscreens. What did they make of it, I wondered, the crumbled stones of our civilization dissolving and being replaced?

Herds of bison roamed the Great Plains again. California condors soared over the west coast. Passenger pigeons flocks soared through the air. The green fertility of the Everglades was restored, alligators and all. Salmon flapped in the streams of the Pacific Northwest. Polar bears roamed the Arctic – all had been rendered extinct in our world. Now our world had them back, along with all the other plants and animals of their ecosystems.

As we moved down to Central America, replacing the fern-covered laterite with fecund rainforest, I was almost giddy at the sheer amount of _life_ that had come back into our world. Even before the Kryptonian invasion, our world had been diminished, pauperized. We ourselves had killed off so many species. In my three-o-clock in the morning ruminations, sometimes I wondered if the invasion had been poetic justice.

At our urging, Clark moved the Fortress's probe into worlds that did have humans. Our world would have domesticated animals again, not just the wild animals that came with the territory that we switched. We were thieves. Perry and I rustled cattle – dairy breeds, beef breeds, and others. We stole horses, ponies, donkeys, and mules. We absconded with flocks of chickens, geese, and ducks. We scooped unwanted dogs and cats, all different sorts. We skimmed hundreds of these worlds, seeking only domesticated animals – not just the sheep and goats, but the llamas and alpacas and reindeer and turkeys and fish and guinea pigs and camels and yaks and honeybees. We put them near human habitations – hopefully they would be cared for. And then we moved on, back to worlds where humans had never roamed.

The Fortress moved on, into the Caribbean. Hispaniola had forests again. Manatees swam placidly through the gentle swells, chewing the sea plants. Living coral reefs replaced their dead counterparts. The four of us – Clark, Perry, Jor-El, and I – moved on, smoothly substituting bits of the other world for our own.

Clark called a temporary halt. "I think we need a rest."

After I came up from my half-trance, I was glad. Fatigue was setting in – I felt it now. Perry wiped his brow. Clark moved stiffly – very unusual for him – and I remembered that he'd had hundreds of painful moments in the last few hours. It was the price he paid for moving our probe from world to world. Was Jor-El tired? Could computer intelligences become exhausted? The job we did called for all his attention, and certainly must strain the capabilities of the Fortress.

We gathered at the table and had some hot drinks. Clark motioned over Bernie and Miranda. Bernie could hardly wait to ask questions. He began babbling as he neared us. I sighed.

"Please, Bernie, give us a minute," Clark said.

"That was fascinating!" Bernie exclaimed. "I saw it and I still don't believe it."

"Is my family OK?" Miranda asked me shyly.

"Yes," I reassured her. "We were careful to leave all the humans right here on this world. Their surroundings may have changed, but everyone is safe."

Perry held his head in his hands.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"I've got a bit of a headache," he admitted. "With a little rest, I should be fine." He met my glance and I saw we were both thinking of Jor-El's modifications. Any normal human should have been drained dry by the work we'd just completed. We'd been made much stronger, much more enduring. "I think a little food would be in order, too." I met his eyes and I knew Perry was as ravenous as me.

Clark nodded. It didn't take long until all of us had a full plate. As we ate, I felt Clark instructing Jor-El telepathically, and the clouds that permanently covered the Fortress moved aside. Sunlight shone down onto our little gathering.

What _had _Jor-El done to Perry and me, anyway? We weren't supposed to have that particular Kryptonian ability, but the sunlight seemed to energize me. My fatigue melted away. I stretched leisurely.

"I think eight hours for the total reconstruction of North and South America is pretty good," I said.

"Plus the Caribbean, the Aleutian islands, and the Arctic," Perry added, going along with it.

Clark smiled briefly. He looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said to Bernie. "Do you want to go home?"

Bernie looked aghast. "You're not going to send me away, are you? You told me I could stay for the whole thing."

"No." Clark glanced at Miranda. "But Miranda?"

"I want to stay, too," the young girl said promptly. She fixed Clark with her gaze. "What's it like?"

"What?"

"What you were doing there. Changing things."

"Well…" Clark began explaining. Whenever he seemed in danger of finishing, Bernie or Miranda would ask another question and he'd talk longer. Perry and I finished our food and shared a leisurely drink. By the expression on Perry's face, and by the sensitivity I shared with him, I knew his headache had passed.

Clark saw it too, and managed to bring his interrogators to a halt. "We have to get going. There's still a lot more to do." He turned to Perry and me. "Do you want to go east across the Atlantic, or do you want to go south to Tierra del Fuego and do Antarctica and then the Southern Hemisphere?"

I shrugged. "Probably east. I'd like to make sure we take care of that seed bank in Norway. We can do Europe and Asia, and then move into the Southern Hemisphere. Frankly, I think we should do Antarctica last. There's not much there other than the marine life, and we'll probably be pretty tired by then."

"Good plan." Clark stood up and the rest of us followed suit. Our guests went back to where they could see the viewscreens. Klein had a small crystalline device and he was whispering into it. I caught Miranda looking at Clark with admiration. She had a definite crush on him. Too bad he was leaving.

She knew that, didn't she? We'd certainly made it clear. I hoped she wasn't "confused" and thinking he would stay just because she wanted him to. Or maybe she had some crazy idea of going to his world along with him. She'd already pushed herself forward, coming to the Fortress uninvited, just to be in his company.

No, I was being foolish. Miranda may have a crush on Clark, but that's all it was. It would die when they were separated.

We took our places for Act Two – hopefully a repeat of Act One, just in different places. Jor-El cycled up the Fortress. Clark piloted it amongst the infinity of possible worlds, picked one, and locked it down. Perry and I chose an area – we started now with Norway and Scandinavia, and began the process of choosing what to save and what to let go. The bond among the four of us had grown more complete, and the process moved much faster now.

We saved the seed bank, and I knew Perry felt my relief. Living on a farm for so many years had given me an appreciation for the importance of good seed. I came up from the trance, just a little, to take a fifteen-second break. I felt the satisfaction of a job well done, at least so far. We were going to do this. Things were going just fine. Everything was OK.

Lex Luthor appeared in a haze of green. At first I barely reacted to his presence, still halfway lost in the trance of world-building. I had a thought: _What is Lex Luthor doing here in the Fortress?_ Then I realized. He didn't belong. He wasn't supposed to be here. How had he gotten here? Why had Jor-El given us no warning? Maybe starting with Metropolis hadn't been such a good idea after all, I thought ruefully. After all, that had changed Lex's surroundings first.

Lex's intentions were clear. He carried an automatic firearm. He raised it and began to fire.


	42. Chapter 42

From the previous chapter:

I felt the satisfaction of a job well done, at least so far. We were going to do this. Things were going just fine. Everything was OK.

Lex Luthor appeared in a haze of green. At first I barely reacted to his presence, still halfway lost in the trance of world-building. I had a thought: _What is Lex Luthor doing here in the Fortress?_ Then I realized. He didn't belong. He wasn't supposed to be here. How had he gotten here? Why had Jor-El given us no warning? Maybe starting with Metropolis hadn't been such a good idea after all, I thought ruefully. After all, that had changed Lex's surroundings first.

Lex's intentions were clear. He carried an automatic firearm. He raised it and began to fire.

* * *

He'd appeared right next to the portal entrance, but he hadn't come through the portal. That had been locked down – only Perry, Clark, and I could come through the portals from the Kawatche caves and the Daily Planet building. How had he gotten here? He'd materialized out of thin air!

Lex stood, not bothering to crouch, firing a steady stream. Green flashes told me that the ammunition was made of meteor rock, and Lex ignored everyone else in the Fortress to fire at Clark. The successive concussions hammered on my ears.

I sensed Clark's surprise and alarm through our link. I felt him casting around frantically. Then he focused on our mission. He sent Perry and me a message through our telepathic link. _"Finish the job."_ And with that, I felt him step away from his "pilot" role. Jor-El and the Fortress would stay attached to this particular alternate Earth until Clark came back to the job. And, I knew, that wouldn't happen until Clark dealt with Lex Luthor.

Clark slipped into super-speed. We were still linked telepathically. My brain gibbered in dismay as it tried to keep up with Clark's. The link pulled my thoughts faster than I could sustain, quicker than the human brain was ever designed to go. I felt Clark's superhumanly quick movements as he dodged the stream of bullets, not trying to catch them, recognizing the projectiles were deadly to him. My heart raced as my body tried to follow his lead. Gasping, I managed to disengage partially. I had to drop the mind-to-mind link. I was only able to keep an emotional connection.

Through our emotional connection I sensed Clark's worry. Thinking of me getting hurt, or anyone else getting hurt, frightened him immensely. He was irritated and annoyed at Lex for putting him in this position. But at the same time there was a deep sorrow, and resignation, and an awareness of why Lex had burst into the Fortress on an obvious mission to kill.

Lex stopped firing, and then started again, in fits and spurts. The expression on his face frightened me. I'd seen it only a few times before, just before he was about to leave for a mission where he expected to die. There was no anger, only calm resignation and sheer will. I looked away from Lex's face and saw glowing kryptonite around his neck. The infamous kryptonite handcuffs, now separated into bracelets, adorned his wrists, but they posed no bar to him. It was obvious that Lex's accessories were meant to repel Clark.

Lex stopped trying to shoot Clark. He recognized, as I did, that Clark could dodge his bullets as fast as Lex could fire them. I saw Lex's lips curl in a snarl. He strode forward, and aimed at the control panel. What seemed like hundreds of meteor rock bullets slammed through the delicate tracery of crystal, shattering it, perverting its function, turning it into a million tumbling, reflecting shards.

Jor-El screamed. The avatar winked out. The Fortress rumbled and the floor swayed beneath us. Pain hammered through me as well. The telepathic connection worked both ways. I felt Clark flinching too.

I managed to flog my stunned mind back into motion. Perry and I were still linked, still supposedly filtering through the millions of human-made objects in our target area. Perry hadn't seemed to feel Jor-El's pain – maybe because he wasn't an "owner" of the Fortress? That was good for us. Perry wasn't incapacitated. _"Perry," _I telepathed, _"take over." _ Perry would have to be the filter, be the one who decided what was kept and what was let go. Fortunately, we'd made plans beforehand.

Like Clark, I stepped away from my task. I couldn't help Perry now. I had other things to do.

I _reached_ out, stretching and testing my mental link with Jor-El – or the Fortress. They were the same thing. I felt his terrible pain. Each meteor rock bullet that shattered a control tube, each projectile that impacted into the Fortress walls, hurt him. I felt Jor-El's frantic busyness as he tried to keep his identity intact and maintain the structural integrity of the Fortress under this crushing attack. He clung to my mental probe, and I felt the Artificial Intelligence, the amazing power generated from the knowledge of twenty-eight galaxies and the advanced planet of Krypton, depending on me. For a moment, I was drowning and the AI was pulling me down. Then I fought back against the undertow, managed to stay above the waves that threatened to swamp me. Jor-El hung on me, and I on him, as together we tried to stay afloat. I swayed and managed to sit down before I fell down.

My stolid humanity gave the AI a framework to build on. It may have been hit by meteor rock bullets, but I hadn't been. Its frenetic activity gradually slowed as Jor-El switched parts of his identity to undamaged crystals and recreated other parts from backup. He activated alternate control links. Amazingly, despite his wounds, Jor-El had kept our mission going. The grand plan of repairing our Earth continued. A quick glance at the viewers told me that the ruined cities and deserted countryside of our Earth continued to melt away and be replaced by the virgin forests and trackless wilderness of the alternate Earth we'd picked.

Beside me, Perry dropped. Fear coursed through me. I leaned over him, frantic. I loosened the link between Jor-El and me. The AI had achieved some stability and Jor-El didn't require the tight link anymore. I felt Jor-El's thanks as I knelt over Perry. Oh God. I hadn't been there for Perry. I was busy fixing an alien Fortress. What if Perry had been shot? What if Perry was dead?

Then I sighed in relief as I saw Perry take a deep breath. He was only unconscious. No doubt it was due to my leaving him to carry the entire load of Earth's repair. We'd barely been able to handle the job together, even with Jor-El's enhancements to our bodies. Now when I "ran off" to help Jor-El, it was obvious. Perry had tried to do everything and had taxed his body beyond its limits.

_"He will recover, Martha Kent,"_ Jor-El thought at me. The AI's words were a relief. I sighed. Exhaustion rolled through me. Holding up the Fortress, even for just a few seconds and only as an alternate, had taxed me severely.

I looked back at Clark. When Lex had taken his focus off Clark to fire at the control panel, Clark had stopped his dodging and speeding in turn. Lex aimed at Clark again, but it was too late. I saw Clark's eyes glow red and I gasped. _He was going to use the heat vision._ Horrible flashbacks of burned cities and charred corpses filled my mind.

I sensed Clark sensing my apprehension through our emotional link. Clark actually smiled, just a bit, as he sent back reassurance. Then I saw his eyes glow brightly.

Lex's gun heated up. He tried to hold onto it, but I saw the metal beginning to glow under the relentless input of energy from Clark's heat vision. With a curse, Lex flung the firearm away. Clark's gaze followed it, and in the smoke and dust stirred up from the attack, I could see the heat ripples in the air.

"Cover your eyes!" Clark yelled. He wasn't kidding. He already had covered his eyes. I put an arm up to shield my face. Perry's eyes were already closed.

With a blast of green heat and light, Lex's gun blew up. The explosion made my ears ring. I brought my arm down. It looked like it had been sunburned. A greenish miasma filled the air of the Fortress, and Clark looked a little pale.

Lex took a few steps forward. I saw him look at the tiny charred spot that was all that remained of his firearm. Was that a flash of surprise that he wasn't a pile of ashes by now? It was as obvious to Lex as it was to me that Clark could have incinerated him and not just his gun. Lex schooled his features back into practiced blandness.

"Lex," Clark said pleasantly, "what are you doing here?"

Before Lex answered, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a shard of meteor rock. It glowed brightly. Lex dropped it on the ground. He stepped forward and dropped another piece of kryptonite.

"Why, Clark… or should I call you Kal-El now? I was just about to ask you that." Lex continued to step and drop, advancing on Clark slowly but inexorably. I saw his strategy. He'd lay a line of meteor rock and that would effectively split Clark's area of action in half. If he had enough kryptonite, he could divide up the Fortress into smaller and smaller areas. I already knew that Clark couldn't maintain super-speed in the presence of kryptonite, so that would eliminate his main advantage. And of course, if Clark were close enough, the green K would incapacitate him. Although the pieces Lex was dropping weren't all that large, so that was in our favor.

"I'm getting ready to go home." Clark kept eye contact with Lex. "What about you?"

"I'm here to kill you."

I flashed back to the stories Chloe had told me about the final assault on Zod's Fortress. Lex had said those words to Zod… and had followed through. Deep unease curled through my gut.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it, Lex? When I'll be out of your hair any minute now?"

Lex's lips tightened at the bon mot. He continued to lay his trail of kryptonite pebbles. "That would be good if I had any hair to be out of, Clark. But since I don't, I'll just have to make sure of things."

Clark narrowed his eyes. Through our link, I saw he recognized the strategy too. Before Lex could approach him where he waited at twelve o'clock, Clark blurred away. He rematerialized at seven o'clock. I _knew _where he was – maybe our telepathic connection had been broken, but our empathic connection remained.

He had his hands behind Bernie and Miranda and he was pushing them towards the portal. "Get out. Get out now," I heard him say firmly.

My God. Bernie and Miranda! I'd forgotten all about them. And they could have been shot, or blinded in the explosion when Clark destroyed Lex's gun. Their ashen faces told me they knew that too.

Clark chivied them to the portal that led to their home town. Only Bernie could use that portal. He stood frozen. "Bernie," Clark said calmly but urgently, "you have to get Miranda out of here."

Miranda jerked Klein from his paralysis. She pulled Bernie's hand and got him moving. "Come on, Dr. Klein," she hissed. They stood at the portal entrance.

"Bernie, go!" Clark said. His impatience came through our link. He wanted them in safety as much as I did. The Fortress had suddenly become a very dangerous place to be.

The two of them stepped forward. The blinding light arose, and Bernie and Miranda disappeared. Nervously, I queried Jor-El, and he confirmed that they'd made it back to Kansas safely.

Lex by now had turned around just in time to see the bright flash of the portal activation. I lay exhausted on the ground, Perry still unconscious next to me. Clark stood a short distance away. Lex began another advance toward Clark. He was brave, I had to give him that. Disarmed aside from the meteor rock, Lex still sought to engage and destroy his enemy in single combat. If Clark were Zod, Lex would have been dead already.

Clark met my gaze. I sent him reassurance through our emotional connection – I was only tired, not harmed. I saw him look at Perry, and squint, and then relax as he realized Perry was OK as well. Clark squared his shoulders. I felt his determination to deal with Lex somehow, in a non-lethal way.

And then Clark staggered as another kryptonite-festooned human popped into existence behind him. My eyes widened. It was Andrea Rojas, the self-proclaimed "Angel of Vengeance". I hadn't seen her since she'd stormed away from Metropolis base in a huff, right after Clark's trial. The trial where we'd decided to let him live.

A green haze surrounded her as she materialized, and this time I saw why. Alicia Baker, the teleporter, had brought Rojas here to the Fortress. Obviously Alicia had brought Lex before. Clark stood at six o'clock, where Bernie's portal was. He faced Perry and me, who were collapsed on the floor at about eight o'clock. Rojas and Baker arrived at the five o'clock position. Before I could say anything, Baker set Andrea down and quickly teleported away.

Rojas looked around, quickly but carefully. She saw Clark right away – after all, he was only about ten feet from her. She raised her weapon. I cringed. I was on the floor, but I was in her line of fire. Somehow I didn't think "possible damage to innocent bystanders" would bear much weight in Andrea's thinking. She was more of a "Kill them all and let God sort them out" person.

Clark caught my alarm through our emotional connection. He took one sharp glance behind him and scrambled away. I saw his wobbliness and lack of speed – Andrea was too close. She carried large chunks of meteor rock, just like Lex. Clark hurried along the edges of this big room, still that crucial just-a-bit-faster than Rojas. Lex tried to cut off Clark by meeting him at about ten o'clock, but Clark got far enough away from meteor rock sources that he was able to put on a little speed. Clark ended up near twelve o'clock, near the mutilated control panel.

He'd thrown Andrea's aim off enough that she hadn't started firing her weapon for a few seconds. Clark stopped for a moment. His eyes flicked from Lex back to Andrea. I saw his face firm with resolution. Andrea began to fire. Clark's eyes grew red again. He blurred as he dodged the bullets. But was he getting slower? I imagined I could see a human form amidst the blur – usually I couldn't. Clark moved too fast, usually, to see any outline of his form. If he was slowing… it had to be from all the kryptonite bullets in the walls and structures of the Fortress.

It took him longer to heat up Andrea's gun, too. She'd managed to advance to the center of the Fortress. Clark had less room to dodge, especially since Lex stayed behind and to the left of Rojas.

And then _another _person popped into existence at five o'clock. Chloe. Of course. If Lex was here, she would follow. Like Lex and Andrea, she carried a fearsome-looking firearm. Like the other two, she wore meteor rock jewelry as if it were Mardi Gras and she were in New Orleans.

Unlike the icy resolution on Lex's face, and the bitter anger on Andrea's, Chloe wore an expression of resigned sadness. I had thought that the right side of her face, burned and scarred, lacked expression. But I was wrong. Even her blind eye wept at what she perceived as Clark's betrayal.

Alicia Baker dropped off Chloe and poofed away. Damn teleporter. How could we fight them? At least they had to come in one at a time. At least we'd sealed the portals so that an army couldn't come through, the way the Resistance had conquered Zod.

Like the other two, Chloe took only a second to evaluate her surroundings before she began firing. Clark blurred again as he dodged bullets for the third time, but he was definitely slower. Bullets slammed into the walls of the Fortress again, but this time Jor-El was ready, and he was able to re-route around the damaged areas easily.

Clark managed to heat up Chloe's gun, finally. He was helped by Chloe not firing when there was a chance she might hit Perry or me – unlike Rojas. Chloe discarded her gun as it heated up, and for the third time I covered my eyes as a green explosion thundered through the Fortress.

Chloe, Lex, and Andrea looked at each other. Once I had been part of that exclusive group that hunted Kryptonians. Now I was on the other side. My stomach clenched with worry. The three of them began circling, walking a pattern that ensured Clark couldn't incinerate more than one of them at a time, and at the same time provided cover for each other. A pattern, I could see, which would end up with Clark trapped in the middle, surrounded by kryptonite.

"Won't you give me a chance to explain before you kill me?" Clark said, only half-sarcastically.

"You had your chance." Rojas said that, and the iron in her voice frightened me.

"Why doesn't he fly?" Perry muttered. He was conscious! Joy rushed through me. Things were always better with Perry at my side.

A green miasma permeated the upper levels of the Fortress – the vaporized meteor rock ammunition. "Maybe that's why," I said, indicating it. A bit of the emotional connection came through and I felt the real reason. "He's trying to keep them away from us." The idiot. We were humans. We could negotiate. Clark couldn't. That's what he believed.

"Martha… can you do anything? You own half this Fortress." Perry whispered it, remaining still, trying not to attract attention.

I was a fool. I'd just been sitting, watching, while Clark was hunted down. I must be able to help in _some _way. I closed my eyes and sought the telepathic connection with Jor-El, linking closely with him.

Our mission still claimed most of his attention. The AI had managed to replace all of Eurasia and was beginning work on the northern Pacific. Strange how much faster things went when Perry and I weren't there to sort through and say "keep this." Inwardly I mourned. We'd made plans to keep some world heritage sites. Now the Taj Mahal, the Acropolis, Hagia Sophia, the Great Wall, and so many other bits of human culture were all gone into that other world. Pictures and books were no substitute. Humanity was poorer now.

I figuratively tapped Jor-El's shoulder, and gained a small portion of his attention. I hardly needed to explain the situation. _Intruder control? _ I asked him. Jor-El showed me the events of a few days ago, when Miranda had intruded and Clark had disabled intruder control. He'd never reinstated it, the lunkhead. I sighed. _What do you have available? _I asked. Jor-El answered, and we spent a few seconds considering it. With the literal speed of thought, Jor-El and I decided on a plan.

He didn't have much power to spare. The necessity of completing our mission, along with the damage suffered in the attack, meant that any large-scale actions weren't possible. But I could order tiny things.

I opened my eyes. Our three adversaries continued to circle Clark. They dropped kryptonite fragments as they walked. He tried to keep an eye on all three as he spoke.

"Chloe? Won't you hear me out?"

"Clark, I thought we could trust you." Her voice was flat.

"You _can_ trust me! I'm fixing the Earth!"

"Re-making it in your own image?" Lex sneered. "How very god-like of you. Even Zod was content with just changing the climate. What place will lowly humans have in this brave new world of yours?"

"I'm not Zod." Clark had slowed a bit, and I feared the cumulative kryptonite levels were becoming toxic. "And humans… it'll be their world."

I teased a few strands of power from Jor-El's hands… worked with him on the proper configuration…

"Their world? With the Fortress here to enforce discipline? With _you_ there?" Rojas said bitterly.

"I'm leaving." Clark continued his slow pacing.

A few more commands… I couldn't regret that the AI continued its work, but I could regret that it left _me_ with so little to work with.

"Leaving?" Chloe sounded confused.

"I'm going back to my own Earth. You won't have to worry about me anymore."

I almost had it.

"Besides," Clark said with more than a trace of sarcasm, "this way you won't have to worry about a kryptonite bomb going off at an inconvenient time or place."

"It was quite the surprise to see the explosion on the Moon," Lex agreed urbanely. "You could see it without a telescope. Quite the green flash." Interested, he added, "How _did _you get the bomb out, anyway?" That was Lex, always seeking information.

"The Fortress," Clark said shortly. I agreed with his discretion. It was important to leave Bernie Klein out of it. Clark was leaving, but the rest of us were staying. "How did you find…?" He gestured around at our surroundings.

"When the world started changing around us," Lex said, "we played the odds and guessed it was the Fortress again." He gestured at our surroundings. "After all, Clark, what else could it be?" He continued his slow pace, never taking his eyes off Clark's.

Clark nodded.

"Bruce analyzed the satellite footage and saw that this area was always under cloud cover." Chloe took over and Clark's eyes moved to her. "Statistically anomalous."

"We sent Baker on a reconnaissance," Lex said. "When she reported the presence of the Fortress, all we had to do was pull out our plan."

"You have a plan?" Clark asked.

"Of course," Lex replied. "Clark, I always have a plan."

Bingo. I sent a mental command to that part of the AI that wasn't busy. A beam of light speared down and encircled Lex. He slammed up against force field walls, imprisoned by a part of the Fortress intruder control system.

A little power remained… I used it to fix Chloe in place. Glowing walls of energy surrounded her. She stabbed at the force field with a chunk of kryptonite, but it remained intact.

Rojas saw what had happened to her comrades and growled. She took off running. I knew, theoretically, that she had metahuman speed and strength, but I'd never seen her use it. I saw it now.

She sped through the distance almost as fast as Clark could have. She blurred to my sight. Clark sidestepped her. The kryptonite necklace she wore glowed fiercely. They exchanged a dizzying array of blocks and punches, so fast I could barely see them.

How could Clark be standing up to a metahuman opponent who wore kryptonite? Then I remembered our weekly lessons with Lois and Oliver. After Oliver had commented upon Clark's lack of fighting knowledge and dependence on his super-strength, Lois had taken it upon herself to tutor Clark in unarmed combat. After Clark had mastered the basics (it helped when you could repeat a move five hundred times and it only took you fifteen seconds to do so), she'd insisted that they train while she had kryptonite on her person. Oliver had been Clark's secondary tutor and the difference in his style and Lois's was remarkable – and educational. Even I had learned something. (Clark had taken me along, and I'd gotten back in practice – my skills had degraded shockingly after Lois, my regular sparring partner, left for California. I never sparred with Clark. Fighting a Kryptonian man brought up too many bad memories.)

Clark told me later that the mental and physical discipline needed to stay upright and keep fighting in the presence of meteor rock had been one of the hardest lessons he'd learned. He hadn't realized how much he depended upon his Kryptonian abilities, he admitted, until they were neutralized.

And now that training was paying off. Rojas was no slacker in the fight department, but seeing her, I could tell that she relied too much on her metahuman strength and speed. She was sloppy.

That was the only thing saving Clark so far. He executed his forms impeccably. But the green mineral had its effect on Clark. He slowed. He weakened. If he stayed in close proximity to Andrea, there was only one way this could end.

A glow next to me distracted my attention. It was Bernie's portal. The glow faded and three figures solidified – Bernie, Miranda, and… was that Gloria? Definitely it was, and she carried her shotgun.

What was it with unscheduled interruptions at the Fortress today? It was like we'd put out an "Open House" sign. Yeah, an "Open House and Bring Your Weapon" sign.

I knew my anger was a camouflage for worry. Like Clark, I wanted innocent bystanders out of here and far, far away. We'd gotten our friends away safely and now Bernie had waltzed right back in!

"What are you doing here?" I hissed. I couldn't help looking at the fight between Rojas and Clark.

"Clark needs our help!" Miranda proclaimed.

Oh, God, save me from teenage girls with crushes. I couldn't believe she'd actually come back, and brought Gloria with her. In fact, how had she done that? The portal was keyed to Bernie. Only he could operate it.

"Bernie…" I growled.

He got shifty-eyed. "I left my data crystal. I want my data crystal."

I almost screamed in exasperation. Between Miranda's crush and Bernie's data-lust, I could see how Bernie could have been influenced to come back. At least they'd brought Gloria for adult supervision. She had swung down her shotgun and was gaping at her surroundings.

"Well, you'll just have to wait for your data crystal!" I hissed again. "We're a little busy right now!"

I pointed to the fight. Bernie frowned, Gloria looked on interestedly, and Miranda wrung her hands. Lex and Chloe seemed engrossed as well – it didn't look like they'd noticed our visitors yet.

Rojas pounded Clark with a flurry of blows. Clark tried to step back from Andrea, but she pressed forward. He was reaching the end of his stamina. I saw his face twist in desperation. He managed to squirm out of her grip. He stepped back and I saw him falter on his right leg. Andrea snarled. She recognized Clark was weakening. She had only to press and he would be hers. She lunged at him. In a desperate move, he moved aside and managed to pull off the speed for one last feint. His hands touched Rojas' body, pushing her along in the direction she was already going. She tucked and rolled, ready to spring back up onto her feet.

She rolled… and with a flash of light, Andrea Rojas disappeared. I gasped. Matching gasps came from the entrapped Chloe and Lex.

"You killed her." Chloe almost whispered it. Her voice sounded as if she'd really never believed that Clark would do a thing like that. Even if he had built an alien, world-conquering Fortress and set out to dominate the Earth, she had trusted him in some sense. Now he had betrayed that trust.

"I didn't kill her," Clark said irritably, hunched over and panting.

"Hmm?" Lex said sarcastically. "Rojas in Fortress; light flashes; Rojas is vaporized. What are we supposed to think?"

"She's not dead," Clark said. He managed to straighten up. He still limped on his right leg, I saw with disquiet. "She's on my home world."

"You sent her to Krypton?" Chloe breathed.

"No. Krypton is destroyed. _My_ home world. The Earth I grew up on." Clark took a deep breath. He acted as if he weren't sure if inhaling deeply would cause him some pain. It didn't seem to, and he inhaled again. "Right now she's sitting behind my barn at the Kent Farm in Smallville, Kansas."

Lex smiled politely. How did he manage to act so coolly? "A nice story, Kal-El. If she's there, why hasn't she come back?"

"It's one-way."

"Very convenient. I might point out that two of your other victims are laying right there?"

It took a minute for Clark and I to both realize that Lex meant me and Perry when he spoke of 'victims'.

Lex went on. I'm assuming that you managed to brainwash Martha somehow." He cast a wide look at his surroundings. "Martha would never have gone along with this."

Chloe nodded. I had told them just a tiny bit of what had happened to me in Zod's Fortress. Of course they knew I would be anti-Fortress. But then, things changed when half a Fortress belonged to you.

"I'm sure that once you had Martha in line, she helped you convince Perry White. He was always too soft, anyway."

I was offended. "Just a minute here, Lex." I got to my hands and knees, and finally managed to stand up. I wobbled a bit. Helping Jor-El through the initial attack had really drained me. "I'm not one of Clark's _victims_. Clark hasn't hurt us in the least. And I'm here of my own free will."

Through our emotional link, I felt Clark's dismay. When we'd discussed what would happen after he left, he'd been insistent that Perry and I slip back into our daily lives, anonymously. No one should know that we had been involved in Earth's reconstruction.

Well, that was out. And maybe Clark had been hoping to play the "I brainwashed or threatened Martha and Perry so they'd go along with me" card. I'd just ruined that ploy.

Too bad. Only Perry and I were here to stand for Clark Kent, and by God we were going to stand up for him. Perry did that literally, forcing himself upward (I felt his exhaustion – he was as tired as me) and standing behind me. I knew he'd support me if I fell.

"Martha…" Clark mumbled unhappily.

"Martha! How could you?" Chloe exclaimed at the same time. "You know what they're like." She stared at the shimmering curtain of her force-field prison. Her look told me that now she lumped Clark in with the other Kryptonians.

"I know what _they _were like, and I know what Clark is like. Clark is nothing like the others," I said, my voice trembling. "He's kind, and decent, and he's brave. He could have left any time, but he wouldn't go before doing something to fix our world."

"Fix it," Lex sneered.

"If you'd only waited a few more hours, everything would have been done. The Earth would have been restored. We'd have bugs and animals again." I wobbled, and Perry put a hand around my waist to steady me. I felt a little steadier for the contact. "We'd have trees instead of a whole bunch of dead lumber."

"Fine words, Martha," Lex said again, his voice once again cool. I met his gaze through the shimmer of the force field. He shook his head slightly. His eyes were cold. I _saw _him writing me off. In his eyes, I was a traitor to humanity.

"Clark would have left. As soon as he went through that portal to his own world, the Fortress would have self-destructed." I turned to Chloe. Maybe she would at least hear what I was trying to say. "Our Earth would be better, and there wouldn't be any Kryptonians left on it. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"A likely story." Lex again.

"It's true."

"Pardon me for doubting you," Lex said with exquisite sarcasm. "Clark, tell me that you left kryptonite on this Earth when you re-wrote our reality."

Clark was silent.

"_You're_ carrying plenty of kryptonite," I pointed out.

"From our hidden stockpile at Metropolis base," Lex countered. "I wondered if Clark knew about that. Obviously not, or it would have vanished too."

More silence from Clark. I looked at him. He met my gaze. I felt his fear for me. We'd helped him, and Lex knew about it. When he left, Lex would make us pay.

I sent back firm resolve. Perry and I could stand up to Lex.

Clark sighed. He still had concern. But underneath, he had confidence in me. I could survive Lex Luthor's enmity. He believed what I'd just told him. His faith in me reinforced my own confidence. The belief in each other resonated between us, growing each time we passed it back and forth.

I smiled. He nodded. Then Clark sent me a telepathic message. _Don't tell them it was you and Perry who dumped all the kryptonite on the other world. Let them think it was me._ I nodded slightly, acquiescing. We hadn't really checked Metropolis base all that thoroughly. We'd just kept it as one large discrete lump that shouldn't go to an alternate Earth. I didn't know that Lex had had a secret kryptonite stash, although I should have realized he would.

Clark sighed as he looked at our surroundings. Various-sized chunks of meteor rock littered the floor. The air around us still had a greenish tinge. Clark inhaled deeply, and then coughed loudly. He inhaled again, not so deeply this time. He aligned his body at an oblique angle from Chloe and Lex. He exhaled explosively. The kryptonite gravel skittered across the floor, ending up at about eleven o'clock. A few of the bigger pieces resisted his super-breath. He inhaled again, but the kryptonite particles in the air kept him from attaining full power.

Everyone stared at Clark. He pursed his lips and aimed a directed stream of air at one of the biggest meteor rocks. It bounced away to join its fellows at the periphery of the room. He repeated the process on the next biggest rock. Clark obviously gained strength as the toxic mineral receded.

Lex watched the destruction of his careful imprisoning-by-kryptonite arrangement. He and Chloe were imprisoned, Clark was stronger now, and his strongest ally – Andrea Rojas – was _hors de combat_. The kryptonite rocks, Lex's one advantage over the alien, were being shunted to the periphery. They would be useless there.

"What about you, Perry?" Lex looked just a bit desperate. He had to be, if he was imploring Perry's help. I knew, better than anyone, how much Perry disliked and distrusted Lex, and how much Lex scorned Perry.

"I stand behind Martha," Perry said, "and behind Clark." I wondered if he would say more, but a lifetime of reporting had made him an expert at getting to the meat of the story in just a few words.

Lex sagged. His eyes met Chloe's, and I saw him mouth the word. _Collaborator. _

Gloria cleared her throat. I jumped. I'd managed to forget her, and Bernie, and Miranda. She'd been watching the colloquy, fascinated.

"Ahem." Gloria cleared her throat again, and slowly walked to the center of the Fortress, to Clark.

"Gloria. This is a surprise." Clark's voice was flat. I noticed that he didn't say that her presence was a _pleasant _surprise. "Anyway, welcome to my house." _I'm not welcome in yours_ screamed itself out by its absence.

"I knew I should have shot you that day," Gloria observed coolly. She carried her shotgun, but held it down at her side. She was like Lex in one respect, I thought. Both of them might have felt fear, but you'd never know it.

"Do you regret it?" Clark asked just as coolly as she. "Or, rather, regret not doing it?"


	43. Chapter 43

_From the previous chapter:_

Gloria cleared her throat. I jumped. I'd managed to forget her, and Bernie, and Miranda. She'd been watching the colloquy, fascinated.

"Ahem." Gloria cleared her throat again, and slowly walked to the center of the Fortress, to Clark.

"Gloria. This is a surprise." Clark's voice was flat. I noticed that he didn't say that her presence was a _pleasant _surprise. "Anyway, welcome to my house." _I'm not welcome in yours_ screamed itself out by its absence.

"I knew I should have shot you that day," Gloria observed coolly. She carried her shotgun, but held it down at her side. She was like Lex in one respect, I thought. Both of them might have felt fear, but you'd never know it.

"Do you regret it?" Clark asked just as coolly as she. "Or, rather, regret not doing it?"

* * *

Gloria shifted her gaze and watched the viewscreens for a long moment. Through all the mayhem, they'd fulfilled their function of showing the replenishment of Earth. The Artificial Intelligence had moved onto the Southern Hemisphere. I saw leafy green foliage and a striped predator's body slinking through. I smiled slightly – Tasmania would have thylacines, its marsupial wolves, again.

Gloria's expression remained stony as she continued her slow scan of the Fortress interior. Did her gaze soften, just a little, when she saw Miranda?

"You killed Andrea," she accused Clark, not answering his question about regret.

"I did not kill anyone." He said it wearily. "She's not dead. She's in the other world."

"Andrea?" How did Gloria know Rojas's first name? Suspicion coursed through me. "Did you know her?"

"She visited," Gloria said laconically. "Brought the meteor rock. That other girl would come, too."

"Other girl?" Perry murmured.

"It has to be Alicia Baker. The teleporter," I whispered back. The two of them were always together, I recalled. More suspicions reared their ugly heads.

"Lex?" I asked. "Did you send Alicia and Andrea to follow Clark around?"

"I'm surprised it took you this long to figure it out." A tiny smile played on Lex's lips.

"She brought meteor rock to everyone." Clark's tone was that of someone solving a longstanding mystery. "That's why half the people I visited had kryptonite."

"Very good, Clark."

My mind whirled. I thought back to the first mission I'd gone on with Clark. "That's why Hank Hall had those kryptonite handcuffs…" I murmured. Of course. How could Hall have gotten those handcuffs unless Andrea and Alicia brought them to him? The handcuffs linked someone at Metropolis base to Hall and his minions. I'd noticed at the time that they were the _same_ handcuffs that Clark had been wearing during his trial. How had those handcuffs gotten to Colorado before we did? The only one who could travel faster than Clark was Alicia, the teleporter. Of course, Alicia was no fighter, so she traveled with Rojas, who could protect them both.

Why hadn't I thought of this before? Why hadn't I followed up?

I knew why. Because being afraid of Clark, and then starting to get to know him, had claimed all my attention. It was because I hadn't wanted to think back on those times. I had been assaulted, almost raped. I'd had to spend days with Clark, a man who I then distrusted and feared. And then because escaping had been bloody and painful. Even now, sometimes I woke up with nightmares of chopping Clark's hands off, and the kryptonite handcuffs stayed on, and Clark died, and Hank Hall's men came bursting through the schoolroom door, and…. No. I hadn't wanted to think about that time.

Clark was making the same deductions. His eyes grew red. "You sent Martha into danger," he snarled at Lex. "You sent me with her to protect her, and she could have been killed."

"A miscalculation," Lex said. "I regret any inconvenience to you, Martha." He met my eyes with that so-sincere look he had.

I choked. Almost getting raped and killed was an _inconvenience_? My weariness fell away in my anger. And I felt Clark's anger through our link – it burned hotter than mine. Volcanically hot, at the thought that Lex put me in danger.

Lex spoke to me. "The kryptonite went to Michael Carter. You would have been safe with him." _And Clark would have been killed, 'accidentally'_. That was the unspoken subtext. "But Hank Hall overthrew Carter before you got there. I didn't expect him to have the handcuffs. But Rojas was a little too eager."

'What about the other places?" Clark asked bitterly. "I thought it was odd that every survivalist enclave had a meteor rock supply."

Lex shrugged. "Andrea was a busy little beaver. And with Alicia, there were no transport delays."

Clark's glance fell on Chloe. "Did you know about this?"

She had the grace to look abashed. "It was a test. If people threatened you with kryptonite and you hurt them, then we'd know we couldn't trust you." _And we had a plan for that, _her eyes said as they darted to meet Lex's gaze. "If you didn't hurt them that meant you were keeping up your end of the deal." Unlike Lex, she couldn't meet Clark's steady gaze. And she refused to look at me.

"And if they hurt me?" Clark asked.

Chloe shrugged. All of us knew it. _Then the Kryptonian problem was solved. The final solution._ The whole thing stank of Lex Luthor.

"Somehow you managed to avoid that," Lex said.

"Just my natural friendliness?" Clark asked bitterly.

"Of maybe they were too afraid to use the kryptonite on you." Lex shifted his weight. "Tell me, Clark. How many of those people you visited knew that you were Kryptonian? And how many of them invited you in?"

Behind me, I heard Gloria laugh.

"Did you tell Lois? Or A.C.?" Clark answered Lex's question with another question.

Lex sneered. "Be serious."

Anger coursed through me. "You mean that they're honest and they wouldn't put up with crap like that if they knew it was going on."

I met Clark's eyes. With our telepathic connection, I could tell he was thinking about the time he'd talked with Lois right after his trial. _"You kept your promise, so I had to," _she'd said. _"Don't make me regret it."_ And he'd answered her honestly. _"I won't."_ Lois and A.C. had given Clark a fresh start, and he'd honored their trust.

"Do you feel any shame, Chloe?" I spat at her. "You pretended to be friends with Clark. You let him ferry you around. You invited him to Lois's birthday party. You drank with him, you traveled with him – and all the time it was a lie."

Chloe looked at me briefly. Then she squared her shoulders and said defiantly, "It wasn't a lie. It was insurance. We'd fought the Kryptonians for so long and paid so much… Lex knew we couldn't trust any of them, and he's my husband. I agree with him."

"Are you only agreeing with him because he's your husband?" Clark asked cynically. I saw the disappointment. He'd said so much about his own-world Chloe, and how he could trust her, how she was his best friend, how she would never betray him. Our-world Chloe wasn't so stalwart. Or maybe she was, but now she was on Lex's side. "Did you ever think about the consequences for Martha? For a fellow human?"

"And what about me, Lex?" I demanded at the same time. "Maybe I would have liked to have known that you were sabotaging my protector." A thought came to mind. "You didn't pass out the kryptonite when Clark was traveling with Chloe! No, you waited till he started escorting me!" _That _was a betrayal. Shock roiled in my gut. I'd thought I'd been essential to the Resistance. I thought Lex valued my input. Instead, he'd used me to get close to Clark, and he'd deliberately sent me in harm's way. Why? How could he do that?"

Behind me, Perry tensed. He'd managed to keep his mouth shut from sheer force of will. I felt him trembling from the effort.

"It wasn't my intention, Martha," Lex said soothingly. "The kryptonite wasn't supposed to be distributed until Clark started going solo. But Andrea… you know how much she hates him. She jumped the gun."

"Why didn't you tell me about this little "distribute kryptonite to all and sundry" plan?" I demanded.

"We were going to," Chloe said earnestly, "then Andrea heard about your mission with Clark and went off on her own. We didn't know that everything was going to go down the way it did. And afterwards…"

"Afterwards, you figured I'd be just a little upset? That the Metropolis Council sent me on a mission of state, and deliberately sabotaged my bodyguard? That Clark and I were almost killed because of that?"

Lex shrugged. "Why tell you then?"

"Did you at least disavow Andrea?" I asked, my temper rising.

"Of course not," Lex replied. "I did make sure that Hank Hall and his cronies were killed, though. You were supposed to be safe."

Nausea coursed through me. I'd wanted Hall punished, yes, but killed? I swallowed. I thought I'd known who Lex was. It was only now so obvious I didn't have a clue. I'd misjudged Clark, at the start. Now I faced the reality that I'd misjudged Lex, too.

"Chloe." I turned to her. "I can't believe you went along with this. I never expected you'd do something like that. I trusted you."

"And I can't believe that you went along with Kal-El. You know what Kryptonians are like. I never expected you'd do something like _that._" She mocked me. "Look at where we are." She pointed out the Fortress around us. "I trusted _you_."

"You set me up to get killed!"

"And you didn't, just now?"

"We're not going to kill anybody."

"Andrea's dead."

Clark broke in. "She's _not _dead. How many times do I have to tell you?" He paced around angrily. I'd seen him clench his fists when Lex and Chloe had made their admissions. He seemed more incensed about the danger to me than to him. "I'm not a killer. I gave my word. I said I wouldn't kill or hurt anyone and I haven't."

He glanced over at Gloria, who watched the argument with intent interest. Miranda and Bernie had both realized that discretion was the better part of valor, and they followed Gloria's lead in watching without speaking.

"Lex, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now," Clark said evenly. "You've seen what a Kryptonian can do."

"I'm well aware of your abilities, Kal-El." Lex delivered the line smoothly. "In fact, I'm rather surprised I'm not dead yet."

"You thought this was a suicide mission?" Clark hadn't fully comprehended that. He was still such an innocent. I feared for him.

"Of course." When he said that, in that moment I had to respect Lex Luthor. He'd never been a coward.

"Why did you come, then? Alone?"

"Who else would do it? Who could I ask?" Lex met Clark's eyes. "It needed to be done."

"Chloe?" Clark turned to her. It had to be hard for him, to see his best friend in the other world turned against him here.

"Clark, look at where we are." Her tone invited everyone to look around at the alien crystal Fortress, the force field that kept her prisoner, the howling Arctic wind outside. "I had hoped you… could be redeemed, but… " In her eyes, the mere presence of the Fortress condemned Clark.

"Chloe, we traveled together on missions for three months. Didn't you see what kind of person I am?"

"You put up a good façade, Clark."

"It wasn't a façade!"

"But the presence of this Fortress tells me it was, Clark," she said sadly. Chloe glanced over at Lex. "My first loyalty is to humanity."

"I thought you had standards. I didn't think you would let Lex lead you down a wrong path."

"It's not wrong, Clark. How could we trust you, without a test? And Lex is my husband. He loves me."

"I'd say, rather, that you love him, and he feels a mild affection for you because you're useful," I interrupted angrily. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt Lex. "I don't think Lex Luthor can really love anyone."

"Not true," Lex said urbanely. "I do love Chloe."

"Mrs Luthor," Perry broke in. "Just think about this. Your husband just admitted to throwing one of his closest associates under the bus. You'd better watch out. If he would do that to Martha, wouldn't he do that to you someday?"

"Lex never would," Chloe protested. But, when she glanced at Lex, was there a hint of doubt in her eyes?

"Perry," Lex said, curiously formal, "Mr White. I'm asking you this for the record. Where do you stand? Do you stand with humanity in its quest to throw off the alien domination? Or do you stand with Kal-El? The Kryptonian conqueror?"

"Fine words, Lex, but Clark isn't a conqueror. He's a kid trying to go home. And he had a plan for that that was working well until you barged in here."

"Where do you stand?" Lex persisted.

Perry met Lex's gaze straight on. "Clark is a _Daily Planet _reporter. I back up my reporters one hundred percent."

Lex turned away from Perry. I saw the same expression in his eyes that I'd seen when he looked at me. He was writing us off, formally abjuring us.

Gloria stepped forward. She walked up to the column of light that encircled Lex Luthor. She put her hand on it, felt its solidity. "Hmm."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Lex said, cool as ever.

"Gloria Tanner."

"Ah, our neighbor in Kansas." Lex smiled slightly. It didn't reach his eyes. "I believe Kal-El has spent quite a bit of time there."

Gloria flicked a finger at the force field. It bounced off. "If I'd known he was Kryptonian from the start, he would have spent a lot less time there."

Clark said stiffly, "I never lied to you."

Gloria walked back and stood near Bernie and Miranda. Her bearing gave the impression that she was protecting them from Clark.

With all the excitement, I hadn't checked on the mission. I made the mental adjustment to bring up the link with Jor-El. The AI was still busy. He was in the South Pacific. Numerous islands would have their native flora and fauna once again. The other Earth's sun was slightly but noticeably dimmer. All that energy for trans-universal territory shifting had to come from somewhere. I feared that we'd condemned this other Earth to a permanent Ice Age. We hadn't been able to move from Earth to Earth, Sun to Sun, like we'd planned, after Lex barged in on us. This one poor other world had gotten stuck being the solo donor to our blasted Earth.

Gloria came to a halt. She adjusted her grip on her shotgun. "No, you didn't lie," she finally said. "You left a lot out, though."

Clark shrugged. "You can see why." He deviated toward the shattered control panel, and scooped up a crystal from the wreckage. "Gloria, you don't belong here." He walked toward the small group. "It's not safe. Someone might get hurt." He cast a glance at Bernie and Miranda. "Please, let me send you home. The portal is right here."

Clark handed the crystal to Bernie and mouthed, "Your data crystal."

Bernie grabbed onto it with alacrity. "Thanks."

"Why do you want me to leave?" Gloria asked, in her deadpan voice. She began to move closer to Bernie, Miranda, and Clark.

"I told you. It's not safe. You already walked into the middle of a battle scene." Then surprise crossed Clark's face. I saw him wobble and collapse as Gloria neared him. "You're carrying kryptonite."

Oh damn. Why hadn't Clark checked? He knew what Gloria was like. He'd ambushed himself. The lunkhead.

"Meteor rock ammo," Gloria agreed, hefting her shotgun. "Plus a necklace. Did you think I'd come here without it?"

Lex stood up straight in his prison, an eager look on his face. "Shoot him!"

Gloria cast an annoyed look at Lex, but she spoke to Clark. "I think you owe me some answers." The shotgun definitely pointed at him now, and she was ready to fire.

Clark actually had a rueful smile as he shook his head. "Haven't we done this already, Gloria? You holding a gun on me?"

"I haven't shot you yet. That still can happen."

Miranda gave an inarticulate sound of protest. Gloria didn't take her eyes off Clark. I brought up the mental link to Jor-El. Things weren't good. The AI was fully engrossed in the "fix the Earth" mission. Every spare bit of capacity was used in keeping Chloe and Lex confined. A quarter of the Earth's surface remained devastated. There was no extra capacity to neutralize Gloria.

Gloria prodded Clark with the gun. "Start talking."

Clark sat up with his arms around his knees. His eyes darted between Gloria and me. I shook my head minutely, at the same time sending him a message through our telepathic link that the Fortress couldn't help him right now. He took a deep breath.

"Gloria, I know you're a fair person. Please hear me out." He smiled ruefully again. "This could be a long story."

"Go ahead." Gloria had become the fulcrum. The success or failure of our mission depended on her. Clark's life hinged on her decision. I hoped Clark could come up with the right words. He was no orator.

"I'm not from this world. When I came here, I was… very upset to see what the other Kryptonians had done…" Clark went off into his long backstory. Gloria kept the shotgun ready.

"After we overthrew Zod and the others, I made a deal. I would use my powers to help, and they would let me live." Clark said nothing about citizenship, or being paid, or anything else. Because that was the gist of the deal, wasn't it? We suffered him to live if he did what we wanted.

"Have you helped?"

"I'd like to think so. I've brought food, and taken people here and there. I worked on getting the oil rig back online, and I cleared some roads, and I helped keep a dam working for hydroelectric power, and I got supplies for people." Clark turned and looked at Miranda, to remind Gloria of how he'd gotten the supplies for her appendectomy. "It seems so little, now." He inhaled. "Can I stand up? When a man's pleading for his life, he wants to do it on his feet."

Gloria looked dubious.

"I promise I won't try to attack you, or anything like that." Clark smiled at her. "I've sworn not to hurt anyone and I've abided by that promise."

Lex snorted incredulously as Gloria nodded and Clark slowly stood. "You're foolish, Gloria. He's just biding his time. You should shoot him now."

"I want to hear more." She stepped back slightly so she was out of his reach, but still within range for the kryptonite to affect him. She was taking a chance that his heat vision wouldn't operate. If she were facing Zod, she would never have taken that chance, I knew. But Clark… there was something about him that just made you want to trust him. Even Gloria, the ultimate anti-Kryptonian, wasn't totally immune.

But kryptonite still hurt him. I saw Clark's pallor, and recognized the inner strength it took for him to appear unaffected.

"Go on."

Clark nodded, acknowledging that she hadn't had to let him stand up. "Then the opportunity came for me to go home. But I couldn't go home until I finished my job."

"What's your job?"

"To repair the Earth. To bring back the plants and animals that we lost during the Occupation. Fix things."

Gloria adjusted her grip on her shotgun. "And what comes next?"

"I get all of you back to safety. Back to Metropolis, or Medicine Lodge, or wherever you want to go."

"And after that?"

"I'm leaving. I'm going to step through that portal that Andrea went through. I'll be in my own world. The Fortress is set up to self-destruct after I go through." I heard Clark's sincerity. "You'll have a restored world with no Kryptonians in it."

"That's a good story," Lex sneered.

"It's the truth!" Clark said hotly.

"Kryptonians live to conquer. It's in their blood." Lex strove to convince Gloria. "He's already re-written reality out there. He has this Fortress, he has this power, he'll end up just like Zod."

Gloria glanced down at the green meteor rock that hung around her neck. I could see its glow through her shirt. The glowing meant that a Kryptonian – Clark – was close by. "Are you like Zod?" As she questioned Clark, she never took her eyes off his face.

"Yes." I gasped. Clark was quick to qualify. "I am in that I am Kryptonian by blood. I have abilities. And no. I would never do what Zod did. I was raised human. This is my world and I'm going to protect it."

"See? He already talks of the Earth as his." Was a hint of desperation leaking into Lex's tone?

"I mean, this isn't my Earth, but I'll protect it until I leave."

"Don't be taken in, Gloria. Kal-El has already brainwashed Martha and Perry. He's trying to get a new set of collaborators to work through for when he takes over."

"It's not true," Clark pleaded. "Gloria, I don't know if you ever met Zod and you had to kneel before him."

Her eyes flashed. She said nothing, but I saw that she knew the bitterness of it.

"If it will help, I'll kneel before you." Clark did just that, dropping to his knees. "Please, help me end the war between human and Kryptonian. I don't want to conquer anyone. I grew up as a human. I don't want to hurt anyone." His voice softened. "What I want is family, friendship, and acceptance."

I made another quick check with Jor-El. He was replacing mostly ocean now, and it was going fast. Only five minutes more and I'd have the full power of the Fortress at my fingertips. Dare I imprison Gloria? It would keep Clark safe, all right, but wouldn't it be a betrayal?

"Fine words again, Kal-El," Lex sneered. "But, Gloria, have him explain this Fortress. It's not Zod's Fortress. That was destroyed. He built his own. Why would he do that if he wasn't going to conquer?"

Gloria had relaxed enough to look over at Lex when he started talking. At Lex's words, she looked back sharply at Clark.

"Is that true?"

Clark stayed kneeling. He sighed. "When Zod was killed, his Fortress, um, split up into three different elements, um, seed crystals. I'm Kryptonian and those elements called to me. I melded them, and yes, made this Fortress."

Gloria re-adjusted her grip. She'd gradually relaxed her alert posture, but this news made her assume the 'ready-to-fire' position again.

"And that's the problem with shooting me now," Clark said persuasively. "If I die here, the Fortress will split up and someone else could re-unite them and make another Fortress." He carefully didn't specify _who _might do that, but his quick glance at Lex made it obvious who he was thinking of. "On the other hand, if I go through that portal, it's all set up for the Fortress to self-destruct, and the elements too. Once I'm gone, no one will ever be able to rebuild this. No one will have the power that's in this Fortress. It'll be gone. And I'll be gone. No more Kryptonian presence. This world will be for the humans."

Gloria considered that. "If you get everyone out of here first – " she indicated the Fortress. " – how do we know you really left?"

"Well, I guess you can just trust me," Clark said, smiling. "But I'm sure that Lex has satellite coverage. You can check that."

"He's lying!" Lex said.

"What, you don't have satellite coverage, Lex? I know you do. I went up there and fixed the satellites for you," Clark said sweetly.

"No, he's lying about his plans." Lex addressed his words to Gloria. "He says he'll leave, but he won't."

"Lex," Clark said disgustedly, "why would I stay in this world when I can go home and be with my family and friends?"

"It's in your blood to conquer." Lex seemed uncharacteristically tongue-tied. He was repeating himself. "You're the type where it's 'better to reign in hell than serve in heaven'."

"Lex, that's you. That's not me." Clark's even tone was damning.

Gloria wavered.

"You let Bernie and Miranda come up here," I pointed out. I saw Clark wince. I realized I'd blurted out the fact that Bernie and Miranda were closely associated with the Fortress, and hence with Clark. I caught Lex's appraising look at the two. They'd been mostly quiet so far, and Lex's attention had been taken up in stalking Clark and later in trying to persuade Gloria. Now I'd made a mistake in bringing them to Lex Luthor's full attention.

"It was a way to keep an eye on what you were doing," Gloria said. Unusually for her, she sounded defensive – quite different from her usual stern positivity.

"You sent them?" Lex asked. That seemed to surprise him. "You knew they were coming here?"

"So I'm a would-be world conqueror. And yet I allow witnesses to my villainous plans," Clark said sarcastically, at the same time. "Plus, I send them home every night. Does that make sense?"

"It does if you've already turned them," Lex pointed out smoothly. He had that appraising look in his eyes now for Bernie and Miranda – and Gloria, too. I feared he was tagging them "collaborator" as well. "Clark, you've obviously brainwashed Martha and Perry with your Kryptonian technology – why not two more people?"

"Lex. There has been no brainwashing," Clark said tiredly. He still hadn't moved from his knees before Gloria.

"Why else would Martha be working with you?" Lex said. Then he addressed his remarks to Gloria. "She was horribly abused by Zod, you know. She was in the Resistance. There is no way that Martha Clark would ever side with a Kryptonian over humans, unless she was coerced… or re-programmed."

Oh, he was good. My protestations of "I joined Clark of my own free will!" could be written off as the mistaken ramblings of a deluded groupie or brainwashed cultist. And even I was beginning to wonder – I'd had the Kryptonian download. Had it _changed_ me in some fashion? When Lex put it so baldly, it did seem crazy. Martha Clark hated Kryptonians, and here I was, the right-hand woman of one.

No. No. I _knew _Clark. I'd seen what he was inside, where it counted.

"Perhaps I found out what kind of a man Clark was – and what kind of a man you were, Lex," I said after a pause that seemed all too long. Like Lex, I turned my attention to Gloria. "Judge us by our actions! Clark has brought you food and supplies. He's helped Bernie with his experiments. Has he ever hurt anyone in your group?" I lowered my voice. "He saved Miranda's life."

Gloria wavered again. It was rare, I thought, for her to be this indecisive. But my arguments had struck a nerve.

Lex saw her hesitation and swooped in. "Think about this, Ms Tanner," Lex called out. "A few hours ago, did the world shimmer around you? Were your surroundings changed?"

Gloria nodded jerkily.

"Kal-El has admitted that's his doing. He's rewriting the earth, changing our reality. Can you allow that kind of power to stand? Now is the time to strike down the tyrant, before he begins his reign!"

"It's _repairing_ the Earth," Clark said wearily. "It's not a tyranny."

"Ask yourself this, Gloria. When that Kryptonian power surged through, and went through your building, was any meteor rock left? I know you know of Kal-El's weakness. Did he leave you any means to fight him?"

I knew the answer. We hadn't. Perry and I had sent the kryptonite into the other world. This world shouldn't suffer any more from anything Kryptonian. We didn't need any more meteor freaks. The green rock had to vanish. Unfortunately, we'd missed Lex's stash in Metropolis, and apparently we'd missed the kryponite on Gloria's person as well. I wondered uneasily what else we'd missed.

Gloria thought about it. I heard her murmur, "No." Her face hardened. Clark saw it too. He tensed himself. Did he have any powers left? Could he escape the shotgun's reach? Could he melt the gun, or freeze it, or did he have invulnerability to its fire? I feared not. Gloria made her decision. I saw Gloria's finger tense on the triggers.

Everything fell apart with a stunning rapidity.


	44. Chapter 44

_**From the previous chapter: **_

_Lex saw her hesitation and swooped in. "Think about this, Ms Tanner," Lex called out. "A few hours ago, did the world shimmer around you? Were your surroundings changed?" _

_ Gloria nodded jerkily. _

_ "Kal-El has admitted that's his doing. He's rewriting the earth, changing our reality. Can you allow that kind of power to stand? Now is the time to strike down the tyrant, before he begins his reign!"_

_ "It's_ repairing_ the Earth," Clark said wearily. "It's not a tyranny." _

_ "Ask yourself this, Gloria. When that Kryptonian power surged through, and went through your building, was any meteor rock left? I know you know of Kal-El's weakness. Did he leave you any means to fight him?"_

_ I knew the answer. We hadn't. Perry and I had sent the kryptonite into the other world. This world shouldn't suffer any more from anything Kryptonian. We didn't need any more meteor freaks. The green rock had to vanish. Unfortunately, we'd missed Lex's stash in Metropolis, and apparently we'd missed the kryponite on Gloria's person as well. I wondered uneasily what else we'd missed. _

_Gloria thought about it. I heard her murmur, "No." Her face hardened. Clark saw it too. He tensed himself. Did he have any powers left? Could he escape the shotgun's reach? Could he melt the gun, or freeze it, or did he have invulnerability to its fire? I feared not. Gloria made her decision. I saw Gloria's finger tense on the triggers._

_Things fell apart with a stunning rapidity. _

* * *

Miranda saw the same things I had. She ran to Gloria, placing herself between Gloria and Clark. "Grandma! Don't shoot!"

A green light flashed behind the force field walls of Chloe's prison. One second later, with a haze of green, Alicia Baker popped into existence near Gloria. She brought Chloe with her. With another 'pop' of displaced air, Alicia teleported away, leaving Chloe within reaching distance of Clark and Gloria and me.

Chloe began to glow. I'd seen that before – she was meta. She had abilities. Her metahuman healing power made her body glow when she evoked it. I'd seen it a few months ago when she cured me of a hangover at Lois's birthday party. Confusion coursed through me. Why would she be using her power?

And then understanding flashed through me, leaving my heart racing. I remembered Clark telling how Chloe had killed Aethyr – _"She put her healing power into reverse, sucked out all the life force. It was like instant mummy."_ Apparently Lex had grown tired of waiting for Gloria to kill Clark. Or maybe Chloe and Alicia had worked it out on their own.

Everything happened at once.

Jor-El contacted Clark and me through the telepathic link. _"The mission is completed." _

Gloria raised her shotgun.

Chloe, arms and body glowing, reached for Clark.

Miranda barreled into Chloe, who reflexively grabbed onto her.

Clark scrambled backwards as fast as he could.

I yelled, "No!"

Chloe's glow shone brightly.

I saw Miranda age, and wither. Wrinkles lined her face. Her skin became papery. Her hair turned white.

Gloria fired the shotgun. The explosion hammered my eardrums.

Chloe's glow died suddenly as the shotgun burst shredded her chest and disintegrated her face. I saw pieces of brain matter spin across the room and smelled the coppery taint of blood.

Behind his prison walls, Lex Luthor cried out. Gloria staggered back. Clark unfolded himself and arose. He advanced to Miranda, who lay bonelessly. Gloria raised her gun instinctively, and Clark staggered. I realized Gloria still had enough kryptonite on her person to affect Clark.

"For God's sake, Gloria, I can help her!" Clark cried out. She stared at him blankly.

I looked down at Miranda's withered body. It lay with the eerie stillness of death. She'd aged a hundred years in an instant.

Chloe's form, not far away, still trembled. Did a tiny glow arise? Was she trying to heal herself of these mortal wounds? Could she? I stood frozen.

Gloria breathed in long whooping gasps. I remembered what Miranda had said – _Grandma._ Her granddaughter lay dead on the floor. Clark trembled, wanting to move nearer, knowing he dared not lest he collapse in agony. The moment seemed to last forever.

Bernie broke the tension. He came up behind Gloria and reached forward to push down her gun. "He can help her, Gloria," he said quietly. He wrapped his arms around her and guided her back. "Let him help her." His voice was deep. The prattling scientist personality had dropped away to reveal this focused, confident man. "Let him help her."

As soon as Bernie had drawn Gloria back a few feet, Clark came to the bodies. He spared one moment to check on Chloe and saw that she still breathed. He knelt by Miranda and squinted. I knew he was using his deep vision to check for a heartbeat. I didn't think he'd find one. She had that profound stillness that I'd seen so many times, the silence of death.

He looked at me and our telepathic connection leapt into full linkage. I felt his dismay. Miranda didn't have a heartbeat. _'Martha,'_ he sent, _'tell the Fortress to be ready to heal.'_ Clark's resolution came clearly through our link. He focused only on me, not bothering to bring up his own link with Jor-El.

I let go of the full link with Clark to contact Jor-El. The AI had waited patiently ever since he told me the mission was completed. I hardly needed to vocalize my thoughts to Jor-El anymore. The long hours working together had put us into a closer fellowship.

I felt Jor-El's assent, and a platform arose near the shattered control console. A pale light streamed around it.

"Perry," Clark said.

"Yes?" Perry responded quickly. I picked up his adrenalin surge, and the discipline he invoked to remain calm. Perry had seen violent death before. He knew how to keep his head in a crisis.

"Pick up Chloe and take her over there," Clark said, indicating the healing platform.

"Right." Perry wasted no time in arguing. He squatted down, put an arm under Chloe's knees, and another arm behind her bleeding torso. I saw him deliberately look away from her the bloody ruins of her face. She'd been half-blind before, thanks to Brainiac's burning. Would she lose all sight in another battle against a different Kryptonian?

A few tiny pebbles fell away as Perry carried Chloe. Kryptonite pellets from the shot. "Martha," Clark called. I hurried over. He looked at the small pebbles, and then at me. I understood, and picked up as many as I could, directed by Clark's sensations of pain through our link. I went to set them far away, so that he and Miranda would be in a kryptonite-free zone, as much as possible.

By now, Clark had adjusted Miranda's body so that he sat cross-legged and she lay across his lap. His back was to Lex. Bernie still held Gloria, who watched in dazed shock.

I set down the handful of kryptonite pebbles.

"Wait," Clark said. His glance, and our link, told me what he wanted.

I sent incredulity. He responded with stern resolution. I nodded in reluctant assent.

He ran his thumbnail down the length of Miranda's left arm. The thin, papery skin parted. Her veins were blue in the light. Clark cut deeper. The blood didn't well up, but it oozed in the laceration he made. Behind me, I heard Gloria gasp, and Bernie held on to her more tightly.

Clark nodded to me. I took one green pebble from the pile. I handed it to him.

He took it between his finger and thumb of his left hand. Through our link, I felt his hurt. It was like picking up a red-hot coal. I saw his fingers burn, and black streaks go up the veins of his hand. The only sign he made was a slight wince.

Awkwardly, he reached across his body. He held the kryptonite to his right arm and pressed it in. A second area of fiery agony came through our link. Clark moved swiftly, and drew the pebble along his arm, cutting himself. His blood welled up vigorously. With a gasp, he threw the green pebble far away. He lifted his right arm. Blood dripped from the deep cut.

He took Miranda's arm and pressed his own to it. Their wounds touched and their blood mingled. I felt Clark's desperation, and his resolution. After a moment, he took his arm away, and positioned Miranda's head so he could give her a rescue breath. He pinched her nose closed, covered her mouth with his, and exhaled.

Miranda's chest expanded. Clark rolled her off his lap, onto the floor, and began chest compressions. After five or six, he stopped to give her another breath. The cut on his arm had already healed enough that only a red line remained.

Clark did a few more chest compressions. Did a rib crack? I thought so. "Breathe!" I heard him whisper.

I saw it first. A faint unearthly glow began at Miranda's arm, where Clark had mixed his blood with hers. It spread down to her hand, and up to her shoulder. Bernie and Gloria saw it, and Perry, too. Lex didn't – Clark's body was between him and Miranda. The glow advanced over Miranda's chest and moved to encompass her entire body. Clark stopped his compressions and waited.

Miranda coughed weakly. Clark leaned back, sighing in relief. He squinted at her, and I felt his triumph. She lived.

Her wizened body remained unconscious. Clark stood and effortlessly picked her up. He strode over to the healing platform, where Perry had arranged Chloe. Perry stood back to allow Clark to lay Miranda down next to Chloe, two more victims of the Kryptonian Occupation. Behind us, Bernie and Gloria watched intently. Lex stood in his prison, looking on as well. For once he didn't have his usual alert posture – instead, he was almost drooping.

Clark nodded and the telepathic link sprang into being. This time his thoughts were addressed to Jor-El. _'Start the healing process.'_ Perry and I added our fervent agreement.

The light intensified. Through our link, I felt the Artificial Intelligence assess the injuries, and begin to treat. I tried to follow along, but it was like trying to follow Clark when he went into super-speed. The complex healing process took more and more of the AI's attention, and soon Jor-El's presence in our link was minor. It always astounded me that he could do that, separate his consciousness and multi-task. It shouldn't have, given that he was basically a huge computer, yet Jor-El seemed so human.

Lex let out an inarticulate cry of protest, and I looked at him. He pressed up against the walls of his cage, staring hopelessly at the bodies under the healing ray.

Clark stood back and stretched. His arm hadn't healed any more yet, I noticed. A red line still ran down its length where he'd cut himself with kryptonite. I picked up on his discomfort through the link and saw a few shards of the green mineral in the area. This whole Fortress was contaminated now, what with kryptonite shots being fired, and Clark heat-visioning the green-K and exploding it, and Lex and Chloe dropping meteor rocks all over before they were immobilized. All that green K was bad for Clark. I'd have to go through and clean things up and –

Oh yes. Clark was leaving. The Fortress was going to self-destruct. It didn't matter. Nevertheless, I went around and picked up all the kryptonite I could see, and piled it neatly against a wall. Clark nodded in relief, and sent me thanks through our link. We hardly needed to verbalize our thoughts anymore. Emotions, intentions, states of mind – they came through just fine.

Perry cleared his throat. It caught my attention, and I looked at him, his chest and arms smeared with Chloe's blood. "Alicia," he said quietly.

Again I kicked myself for forgetting her. Perry had a knack for remembering important things. Alicia Baker was a teleporter. We hadn't been able to catch her. She'd brought the invaders to the Fortress in the first place. Why hadn't she brought more? Why had it taken her so long in between each person? Did she have to recuperate? It must take a lot of energy to bring a person from Metropolis to the Arctic. Maybe that's why we'd only faced three opponents, or four if you counted Alicia. Of course, she'd never been a fighter. Her forte was to run away – or putting it more politely, quick communication and transport.

It seemed that the Fortress's imprisoning force fields were no barrier to her talent. She'd gotten Chloe out and look what had happened. How did she know? Where was she now? She had to be somewhere here in the Fortress where she could see what was going on. She couldn't have survived outside in the Arctic chill. Or could Lex or Chloe have some sort of communications link that let her stay in Metropolis and call her in when the time was right?

Clark followed my thoughts. He looked up. I kicked myself again. I tended to forget about the upper levels of the Fortress, as there were no stairs or elevators. Those levels were inaccessible to me. But Clark could fly. He naturally thought more three-dimensionally than me. I saw him squint, a tipoff that he was using parts of the visual spectrum to which I had no access. He made a quiet sound of triumph.

_'She's up there,'_ he sent to me and Perry through the link. I got more than just the words – I got a sense of exactly where Alicia was in the Fortress, and where she stood in relation to us.

Clark silently urged me to contact Jor-El. The AI greeted me with just a wisp of attention. I felt frustration. Every time I wanted the Fortress to do something, all its resources were taken up doing something more important – in this case, healing Miranda and Chloe. Jor-El couldn't immobilize Alicia. Of course, Alicia had shown that the force fields that had imprisoned Lex and Chloe couldn't hold her anyway.

I met Clark's eyes. Perry and I both asked the question. Clark could fly and he could move in super-speed – could he capture Alicia? He nodded. _'But how can we hold her?'_ I asked through our link.

Clark sent back images. Lead could hold Alicia, stop her from teleporting. He'd found that out in the other world. Just as lead blocked his deep vision but protected him against the kryptonite radiation, lead would immobilize Alicia. I saw a lead bracelet around the wrist of the other world's Alicia.

It was Perry who murmured it. "We don't have any lead."

My eyes met Clark's and we both knew the answer. The Fortress could get us some. We just had to wait until we had more of its attention, wait until enough of the healing was completed that there was spare processing capacity for our wants. I queried Clark. His eyes went unfocused as he checked with Jor-El. Perry and I couldn't keep up with the AI's speed, but Clark could.

_'They're about ninety percent,'_ Clark reported. I felt his relief as he added, _'The healing is going well.'_

Motion caught my eye. Gloria was picking her way through the rubble. Bernie accompanied her. She'd left her shotgun near the portal entrance. But she stooped down to pick up a chunk of kryptonite. She put it into her pocket.

They approached us. When Gloria got about ten feet away, Clark put up a hand. He must be able to feel her kryptonite at that distance. To my surprise, Gloria stopped. Bernie stayed with her. No one spoke. Gloria stared at Clark. He met her eyes steadily.

The healing light faded from around Miranda. Jor-El announced it through our link. _'The healing of the first female is complete.'_ Was there just a tinge of pride in the AI's tone? Perhaps he'd picked up some emotions from us.

Miranda and Chloe lay there, like two Sleeping Beauties. Miranda was restored to the vivacious teenager I'd met. No longer was she wizened, aged, her life force taken.

Chloe's healing was greater yet. Blood remained on her clothing, yet her horrible wounds to the chest, throat and face had been healed. The right side of her face had been horribly burned and scarred by Brainiac. But now her head was smooth and symmetrical, no burn scars. Blonde hair framed both sides of her face, and she had an ear on the right side again. It was strange to see her that way. I'd gotten used to seeing the burned Chloe. The healing ray still bathed her in its light, but that light was of a lesser intensity now. Perhaps Jor-El needed more time, since Chloe's injuries had been worse.

Miranda's eyes opened. Gloria made a tiny noise and Miranda turned her head to see Gloria. Miranda slowly arose, and Gloria looked warily at Clark. He stepped back, out of the range of the kryptonite she carried. He gestured, telling her without words to go to her granddaughter.

She left Bernie's side and hurried to Miranda. Miranda met her at the edge of the healing platform, and hugged her. Gloria tried to restrain herself, but from the way she hugged Miranda, I saw that she cared deeply. This hard woman loved.

She drew Miranda away from the healing platform, meetingClark's gaze. He gave Gloria a small nod. I stared at her. Clark took a tiny step forward and Gloria flinched. I looked more carefully.

Gloria had lived through the destruction of her world. She had survived, and she wasn't going to take crap from anyone. "Live free or die" was her motto. She took it to heart. She wasn't afraid of dying, I knew. She'd been cautious of Clark in the past, yes, but no more than that. Anger and pride had supported her before, and she'd never yet shown fear.

Now she did. It wasn't fear of what Clark could do to her, or that he might kill her. It was the fear of the caveman faced with powers beyond his comprehension. I sensed some of Gloria's emotion, and my heart hammered. Clark had brought Miranda back to life. She'd been dead, and his blood had revived her. It was like he was some sort of god.

Clark looked at me in annoyance, and I realized I'd let that thought slip through our link. I felt him push it away. _'No.'_ Firmly, vehemently, _'No.' _ He was no god. He was just someone who wanted to help. The thought of something thinking him a god horrified him. He was just a man. A Kryptonian with powers, yes, but still just a man.

Gloria wrapped her arms around Miranda, and drew her away from the platform. She faced Clark and spoke. The fear in her eyes had not diminished. I could almost read her mind. Clark wouldn't hurt her or kill her. She had to know that by now. He'd had every opportunity and had never once harmed her.

But what if he were to do her another kindness? The greatest curses of the gods come from our own wishes fulfilled. I saw that knowledge in Gloria's eyes. And right now, Clark had the power to fulfill wishes.

Gloria's voice shook at first, but then it steadied as she gained control. "Thank you." She looked at Miranda as she said this. She turned her glance back to Clark. Her face tightened. I saw her eyes flick to the portal where Andrea had disappeared, gone to Clark's Earth. Then she met Clark's gaze squarely. I heard her bravado, and the hollowness behind it. She made herself stand up straight. "Now get the f*ck out and don't come back."

Bernie, bless him, broke the staredown between Clark and Gloria. He touched Gloria on the shoulder. She turned to him. He put an arm around her shoulder. She continued to cradle Miranda, since the girl was still wobbly.

"Go to the portal entrance," I told Bernie. He nodded and their little group began picking their way through the rubble.

I met Clark's gaze and let our link spring back into fullness. We queried Jor-El. The AI was… human enough to feel pride at the job he'd just finished, healing Chloe. Perhaps the computer part had done the work, but the personality of the Kryptonian scientist directed it. The impression I got from Jor-El as he tied off the last few loose ends was that of an artist seeing a damaged work of art restored to pristine condition.

Chloe stirred and mumbled. She rubbed at her eyes. After a second, she shot upward, sitting straight. She looked at her surroundings, and then rubbed the right side of her face again. She froze when her fingers encountered hair, instead of shiny scar tissue. She twisted a lock of her blonde hair through her fingers. She took a deep breath and looked all around.

What would it be like, I wondered, to have lost sight in one eye, to have learned to compensate for the loss, and then suddenly to have binocular vision again? What would it be like for Chloe to be able to feel on the right side of her face, to have hearing in her right ear again?

She met Clark's gaze. He said nothing, but nodded gravely. She broke their look, putting her head in her hands.

Clark contacted me and Jor-El through the telepathic link. We would wait until Chloe stood up and moved away from the healing platform. Jor-El would dematerialize the healing platform, which would allow use of the force fields. We would put the force fields around her, keeping her (and us) safe. She'd shown that she was ready to kill. I understood. For months, I hadn't trusted Clark. Now, in Chloe's eyes, I was the worst kind of Kryptonian collaborator. I could say that I was trying to help until I was blue in the face. She wouldn't listen to me, I knew. In Chloe's shoes, I wouldn't believe me either.

So we couldn't leave Chloe free to roam the Fortress. I felt Clark's determination – he wouldn't leave Perry and me at Chloe's mercy. If we couldn't dodge her, she could trap us and do to us what she had done to Miranda. I shuddered at the thought. But if Clark was there, he could protect us from her. Or at least she would focus on him first, as the most dangerous.

Once Chloe was safely confined, we could deal with our teleporter. Jor-El would provide Clark with a lead bracelet, and Clark would fly up and subdue Alicia Baker. Maybe Alicia could teleport, but Clark could speed, and he could get to her just as fast as she could flit away. Jor-El could tell Clark where Alicia was if she stayed inside the Fortress, and if she left the Fortress, that was OK too. Once we got the bracelet on her, she wouldn't be able to teleport. Then we could keep her behind the force fields.

We had already captured the most dangerous of the three. Lex remained in his prison, staring intently at us. Was he grateful for Chloe's life, for her healing? Surely he could see what had been done to her.

Clark, Jor-El, Perry, and I went through the rest of our plan. Once our three opponents were immobilized, they could be safely sent back to Metropolis. If Gloria, Bernie, and Miranda hadn't already left by then (I saw them gawking at Chloe, not even halfway to their portal), we would make sure that they got home too.

Sending Lex, Chloe, and Alicia (who would be wearing that lead bracelet) back through the portal to the Kawatche caves would buy us enough time to complete our plan. Perry and I would get home safely. Clark would step through the trans-universal "doorway" to his own world. The Fortress would self-destruct. Most importantly, no one would get hurt. At least not any more. The plan had already claimed two victims (or three if you counted Andrea Rojas. I didn't – she was alive and well back on Clark's world.) And although both Chloe and Miranda had been healed, the outcome could have been much worse.

I could almost see it. The end of the plan was in sight. We'd be living in a Kryptonian-free, kryptonite-free world. No more conquering space aliens or meteor mutants. And I would no longer have the responsibility of controlling half of an alien structure that could conquer the world. The thought of being free from that burden was intoxicating.

All we had to do was wait for Chloe to stand up. I leaned back a little bit against Perry, who had moved behind me. With the end in sight, I dared to feel a little bit of my exhaustion. Despite Jor-El's "upgrades", Perry and I, in the end, were still only human.

Clark stood in front of the "doorway" to his world, a safe distance from Chloe, who sat on the healing table, head down. Clark remained alert, his eyes moving from Chloe to Lex who pressed up against the translucent walls of his force-field prison. He cast an occasional glance at Gloria's little group, who continued to stare back at him and at Chloe. They weren't making much progress toward their portal.

All of us carefully avoided looking at where I knew Alicia was. Bernie, Gloria, and Miranda probably had no idea she lurked in an alcove forty feet above us. Lex and Chloe didn't want to give her away. And Perry, Clark, and I didn't want to alert her that we knew where she was. Once things were ready to go, Clark could spring into super-speed and hopefully have the lead bracelet on Alicia before she could teleport away.

I tested the link between Jor-El, Clark, Perry, and me. As usual, the link to the aliens was much stronger than the link to Perry, and Perry could only "hear" Jor-El and Clark through me. I felt Clark preparing himself, mentally planning his route, tensing his muscles, and alerting a… pathway that I didn't recognize. After a minute, I realized that he was getting ready to fly. Humans didn't have that brain pathway. For a minute, I _almost _understood how he did it.

Tension filled the air. I checked on Lex again – his eyes darted from Clark to Chloe and up to Alicia and back to Clark again. Perry and I waited. Chloe hadn't moved from the healing table.

Gloria's group began moving again. Bernie stumbled over a kryptonite rock. Arms windmilling, he fought to regain his balance. Everyone looked at him.

In that moment, Lex made his move. He let out a bloodcurdling whoop, followed by a shout of "Alicia!" I automatically looked up and caught the disappearing green haze that marked Alicia's teleportation. Frantically I looked down again – where had she gone?

She'd materialized inside Lex's prison, the green haze obscuring the two of them. And then, a few seconds later, she teleported them both out. Out of the prison, and to a spot a few feet away from Clark.

Time seemed to slow for me as Alicia dematerialized, leaving Lex alone before Clark. Slowly, Clark began to waver and weaken, and through our link, I felt the kryptonite-induced pain. Lex held a sharp knife with a glowing green blade in his right hand. He lunged forward, stabbing Clark's abdomen, cruelly dragging the blade upward. The blade hit Clark's ribs and Lex gave it a final vicious twist. The haft protruded from Clark's chest.

Clark looked down in disbelief. Blood welled up and poured out, bubbling around the kryptonite blade. I staggered at the agony that came through our link.

Clark tried to hold himself up, tried to defend himself against a second strike from Lex. But Lex didn't need a second attempt. He had given Clark a mortal wound. Almost delicately, Lex guided Clark's staggering motions, helping him fall. Clark was like a giant oak tree finally chopped down, slowly crashing to Earth.

And Lex guided him right through the portal. Clark had been standing near the still-open portal to his own universe, the portal that Andrea Rojas had gone through earlier. Lex had taken note, for he worked with Clark's momentum to spin Clark around and usher him right out of our world.

Clark disappeared.

Lex Luthor stood alone, with blood on his hands.


	45. Chapter 45

From the previous chapter:

_In that moment, Lex made his move. He let out a bloodcurdling whoop, followed by a shout of "Alicia!" I automatically looked up and caught the disappearing green haze that marked Alicia's teleportation. Frantically I looked down again – where had she gone?_

_ She'd materialized inside Lex's prison, the green haze obscuring the two of them. And then, a few seconds later, she teleported them both out. Out of the prison, and to a spot a few feet away from Clark._

_ Time seemed to slow for me as Alicia dematerialized, leaving Lex alone before Clark. Slowly, Clark began to waver and weaken, and through our link, I felt the kryptonite-induced pain. Lex held a sharp knife with a glowing green blade in his right hand. He lunged forward, stabbing Clark's abdomen, cruelly dragging the blade upward. The blade hit Clark's ribs and Lex gave it a final vicious twist. The haft protruded from Clark's chest. _

_ Clark looked down in disbelief. Blood welled up and poured out, bubbling around the kryptonite blade. I staggered at the agony that came through our link. _

_ Clark tried to hold himself up, tried to defend himself against a second strike from Lex. But Lex didn't need a second attempt. He had given Clark a mortal wound. Almost delicately, Lex guided Clark's staggering motions, helping him fall. Clark was like a giant oak tree finally chopped down, slowly crashing to Earth. _

_ And Lex guided him right through the portal. Clark had been standing near the still-open portal to his own universe, the portal that Andrea Rojas had gone through earlier. Lex had taken note, for he worked with Clark's momentum to spin Clark around and usher him right out of our world._

_ Clark disappeared._

_ Lex Luthor stood alone, with blood on his hands. _

* * *

The rest of us watched in disbelief. Things had changed in a heartbeat. I could still feel Clark's pain through our link. Or was it only the memory of agony? But he was gone. He'd left us. He was back in his home world, on his Earth, away from this kryptonite-infested Fortress, back on the pastoral Kent Farm. He hadn't completed his task here. He'd left us.

For long moment, nobody said anything.

Miranda screamed. Bernie gawped like a fish out of water. Gloria had no expression – funny, I thought she would have been smiling. Perry inhaled, getting ready to explode in fury. Me – well, I hurt too much to scream.

The Fortress rumbled. Crystalline debris pattered down from above. I thought that Jor-El, like me, had felt the pain of Clark's stabbing.

Lex looked up, and then hurried over to Chloe. He wiped the blood off his hands on his clothing. Then he put his arm around her, and helped her stand. She kept her head down. I couldn't see her face.

The Fortress rumbled again, and this time the floor swayed beneath my feet. "Oh no," Perry mumbled.

With her haze of green, Alicia Baker popped into existence right next to Lex and Chloe. She looked around at her surroundings. She met my eyes, and smiled triumphantly.

The Fortress swayed again. More crystals fell from above, larger ones now.

Lex took one last moment to look over the Fortress interior. He met the eyes of Gloria, and Bernie, and Miranda, and moved on. Then he beckoned Alicia to him and Chloe. He had Alicia stand between the two of them. He skipped over Perry, ignoring him. At the last, he locked gazes with me again. Was there a hint of regret on his face? Or was it triumph?

"Good-bye." That was all Lex said. And in a haze of green, he, Alicia, and Chloe teleported away.

I stood in shocked immobility.

Perry touched my arm. When I didn't respond, he shook me. "Martha! Martha!"

The touch was what I needed. My brain started working again. How strange that I could still feel Clark's pain when he was gone.

"Martha, the Fortress!" Perry stopped shaking me.

A stab of fear went through my gut. The Fortress was set to self-destruct once Clark went through the portal. Clark had just gone through the portal.

And all of us were still in the Fortress.

I kicked my brain back into action. Options tumbled through my mind. The first thing to do was contact Jor-El. I strengthened the telepathic link. _"Jor-El,"_ I sent.

Jor-El sent me back a chaotic mix of images.

_"Can you hold on?" _ Could the AI delay the destruction that was slated to follow Clark's exit?

And what about Clark? The full import of what had happened to him burst over me. He'd gone into the other world stabbed in the gut with a kryptonite dagger. The portal would put him at the Kent Farm. If no one was there – and Clark had said that he pretty much ran the farm on his own – then he would bleed out and die, right in front of his childhood home.

A plan sprang into being. I focused with the taut intensity I'd learned over the years. _"Jor-El. Can you hold the portal open?" _

The AI acquiesced. I could feel it fraying around the edges. I wordlessly offered it some of my strength. It would be futile, I knew it. I was trying to put bricks back in a wall during a major earthquake. We would have to be fast.

"Come here!" I yelled at Gloria, Bernie, and Miranda. "Hurry up!" I turned to Perry. "Perry."

"Martha. We have to get out of here." Perry's eyes darted back and forth. The Fortress instability was getting worse. He stumbled and caught his balance as the structure swayed once again. "Can you get us out?"

It hit me. I was the only one who could save us. I'd grown used to Clark being there, handling the tough stuff. And now he was gone and it was up to me. I swallowed and tried to put confidence in my voice. "Perry, here's the plan." Gloria came up to us, Bernie and Miranda following. "We'll go through the portal to Clark's world."

"He got stabbed," Miranda volunteered. Her face was pale and frightened.

"If I can get the knife out and away from him, he'll do OK," I said, affecting a confidence I didn't feel. "And he's got a Fortress in his world. It'll send us back here."

"If we want to come back," Gloria growled.

"Whatever. There's no time. Do what I say and do it now." My tone quelled all resistance. It helped that another crystalline boulder crashed to the ground not too far away from us. I mentally pushed some more strength, and organization, to Jor-El. We had to hurry.

"Everybody hold hands." I arranged us in a line. I was at the head of it, followed by Perry, Bernie, Gloria, and finally Miranda. "OK. Now I go through."

I marched up to the portal. As Jor-El promised, he was holding it open. But he was wobbly. I'd better hurry. Taking a deep breath, I stepped over the line, pulling the human chain behind me.

Perry took the most dangerous job. He stood, half-in and half-out, one leg and his head across the portal threshold, keeping it open. If he didn't do that, I'd

step through and then be stuck on Clark's world's side. But if the Fortress glitched and the portal closed suddenly, Perry would… I didn't want to think about it.

Bitter cold greeted me. I gasped in surprise. This wasn't the Kent Farm. This was the Arctic. The wind whistled across the polar ice, scattering a few snowflakes that glittered in the summer sun.

"What the…" I muttered. The portal was supposed to lead to the Kent Farm. I should be in Kansas summer heat, not the icy Arctic. I looked over and saw a familiar structure.

The crystalline beams made it obvious that we were near the Fortress of Clark's world. I stared at it for five seconds longer – it looked slightly different than ours. How had we gone so awry?

And then I remembered that moment when Lex had come charging into our Fortress, firing his gun, the kryptonite bullets pulverizing the command console. I'd felt Jor-El scream, felt the links he had to other universes flex and bend and snap. The AI had maintained its link to Clark's world, all right, but the geographical location had moved. I wondered if it had a connection to its alternate, if the presence of Clark's Fortress had been some sort of an anchor.

Belatedly I looked down, and saw Clark crumpled two feet away. He lay face down. Steaming red blood pooled under him. The carmine lake grew larger as I watched.

"Perry! Stay there!" I ordered him. Poor guy, standing on the edge of worlds. But he was the only one left who had even a tiny connection to Jor-El. I did my best to send reassurance and connection through the telepathic link, trying hard to link Perry and Jor-El. I didn't know if the connection would break now that I was in the other world, but I had to take the chance.

I slipped my hand out of Perry's. God, I was frightened. If the portal closed now what would happen to Perry? But I had to.

I leaned down. Already my hands were numb. Why had Clark chosen such an inaccessible and inhospitable place for his Fortress, anyway? Oh, right. He was invulnerable, and he could fly. I snorted as I grabbed his shoulders and heaved. He flopped back over onto his back, and I saw the knife handle protruding from his abdomen, just below his ribs.

The handle was streaked with his blood. I took hold of it firmly and pulled. It didn't want to come. Clark's muscles had locked around it. I tried again, putting my back into it. Slowly, with a gush of blood, the knife came out. I tried not to look at the jagged slash that marred Clark's torso. But I couldn't avoid seeing the burned edges of the wound and the tangled mass of abdominal contents that had fallen out onto the barren tundra when I turned him onto his back.

Was he dead? He lay there so still. No more blood welled up from his wounds. He looked so pale. Why wasn't he healing?

I looked at the knife in my hands. The kryptonite had a faint green glow to it. Duh, Martha. It's toxic to him. You took it out but you're still too close to him. I stood up, stepped back, and took Perry's hand in mine once again. Carefully, I reached down, and tossed the knife, at ground level, back through the portal. I waited for Clark to heal and wake up.

Nothing. He lay there, deathly still. Now both the front and back of his shirt were soaked with blood. I shivered.

A tiny green glow caught my and I saw it. A kryptonite bullet. One of Lex or Chloe's must have gone through the portal. I let go of Perry's hand again, and searched the area around Clark. The lack of heavy snow cover was an advantage. I found six green bullets, and picked them up. I went back to Perry and tossed the bullets through the portal too.

I hadn't lost the connection with Jor-El, thank God. I felt the portal sway. In my mind, I sensed it becoming fuzzy around the edges. We were about to lose this portal.

OK, Martha, time to fish or cut bait. My mind raced. I couldn't wait for Clark to heal. We were out of time. I wasn't strong enough to pull him back through the portal to our world. And would he be able to heal from such a deadly wound in our kryptonite-infested Fortress? And, if he went back, would the two of us be able to stop the Fortress from self-destruction?

We couldn't go to Clark's world through this portal. Or rather, we could, but we'd freeze to death. There was no guarantee we could make it to Clark's Fortress before we froze, and no guarantee that Clark's Fortress would welcome us. In fact, given what Clark had said about his own Fortress, I was extremely leery of it.

Clark would normally be our savior and get us to safety. I knew he would do that, even if he had to carry the five of us all at once, awkwardly. He'd work it out somehow. Except, right now, he was wounded, and not recovering. And we didn't have time to wait. We'd freeze out here. If it had been Kansas, that would be different. We'd have time. But it wasn't Kansas. It was the Arctic. And what if Clark was dead?

All these thoughts raced through my mind. I felt the heavy responsibility of knowing I had to save innocent lives. I made my decision.

I bent down again, and kissed Clark on the forehead. "Good-bye." I'd known him for a year. He'd taken me from fearful, angry, damaged Martha, and had healed me and turned me into strong, confident Martha. Knowing him had been a blessing.

I envied Martha Kent. She had a son she could be proud of. She had raised him right. I wished I could meet her and tell her that. But that could never be. "I'm giving him back to you," I told her in a whisper.

I turned away. Good-bye, Clark. We had saved my world. Now I had to go and save the people I loved.

I took Perry's hand, and marveled once again at his bravery. "Perry, go back in," I told him. I pulled us back through the portal, back into the damaged Fortress.

The rumbling was louder now. I reached along the link to Jor-El and got back a sense of great urgency.

I turned to our little group. "We've got to get to your portal, Bernie. It's our only hope."

Nobody argued.

I looked across the vast expanse of the Fortress interior. Was it the length of a football field? A hundred yards to the other side, where our lone hope of escape waited? "Come on."

I kept hold of Perry's hand, and nudged him through our link. I took a few quick steps. The Fortress swayed and rumbled, and I staggered. _"Jor-El?" _I asked through our link.

_"Martha Kent… You must… escape. I will delay… as long as possible." _If he'd been human, I would have said this was a dying declaration. The AI choked out the words.

Our whole group was running now. Not very fast, but it was hard to do that when crystalline shards and chunks of meteor rock littered the ground. Gloria chivvied Miranda along, holding her with an arm around her waist. The girl was pale, I thought, and holding herself up by sheer force of will.

_"Martha…" _the AI's plea reached me. I linked to it and shuddered. The AI had started to purge itself. I felt the Jor-El identity sliding down a sinkhole, about to disappear into blackness.

_"NO!"_ I _reached _for Jor-El and grabbed him, not letting him fall. He linked with me. I tried to send him my strength, tried to be a source of order and organization for him as I'd done before. But that had been an external attack. This was an assault from within. I felt his instability, and how the erosion of the AI preceded the destruction of the Fortress.

Jor-El managed to send me a warning. Alarm coursed through me. "Stop!" I shouted, pulling Perry back. Seventy yards to go. Bernie pulled up next to me, huffing slightly.

A huge crystalline beam crashed to the floor in front of us. Dust – some greenish, some iridescent – spiraled up in the air. My head ached at the echoing thunderclap of the crash.

"Any more of that?" Perry muttered. I held his hand tighter, and wordlessly asked for strength. He sent love and reassurance through our bond. I kept the link with Jor-El. The AI was sacrificing parts of himself, obeying the imperative of destruction.

I scrabbled for a handhold on the massive beam. Even horizontal, it was thicker than I was tall. Adrenalin fueled my frantic scramblings.

Perry gave me the boost I needed. I clawed my way up to the top of the fallen beam. Perry followed – his extra inches of height had made the difference.

"Come on, Bernie, you can do it," Perry encouraged. Bernie stood facing the beam, doubt in his eyes. He took one glimpse around our surroundings and gulped. Gloria came up.

"Here. You hold Miranda. I'll climb up. You pass her to me." Gloria's words were terse. She'd dropped the shotgun about ten yards back, I saw. She pushed the drooping Miranda into Bernie's arms and launched herself at the beam. She made it atop the rough crystal with no problem, despite her being the same height as me.

Bernie held Miranda, who looked at the crystalline barrier with a dull amazement. He seemed frozen.

"Oh, for God's sake," Perry muttered. He slid back down, off the beam. "Come on, Bernie. Let's get Miranda safe." Bernie jolted out of his freeze. The two men each lifted a leg, hoisting Miranda as far up as possible. Gloria and I grabbed her hands and pulled her onto the beam.

That incredibly low-bass rumble echoed through the Fortress again. I felt a cold breeze and looked up. With a slow, dreamy inevitability, the girders supporting the end of the Fortress near the control panel tottered and fell. We were open to the Arctic air.

Perry saw it too, and practically threw Bernie up the side of the crystal beam single-handedly. Bernie clawed his way up as ungracefully as I had, and Perry followed.

Jor-El called on me for more strength. I sensed he was trying to control the order of destruction, giving us every chance to make it to the portal. Already his mental "voice" sounded thinner – was that because he was losing parts of himself? I pushed some of my almost non-existent reserves of strength at him.

Perry slid down the other side of the beam. It was a clear shot to the portal, if we could make it there in time. Gloria and Bernie took the almost-fainting Miranda and lowered her down to Perry's grasp. Then they clambered down.

I stood frozen, linked with Jor-El, fighting off dissolution. I sensed Jor-El jettisoning things, trying to control the order of what he lost, to give us some time. Files on Kryptonian history spiraled down into the black hole. I couldn't move.

Stinging pain broke me from my reverie. Perry had climbed back up and slapped me. "Martha! Come on!" Fear distorted his face. "Go!" He pushed me to the edge, guided me over. Bernie guided me down, and I almost collapsed.

Thunder rumbled through the Fortress. The fallen beams at the other end lit with an unearthly interior glow. In one of them, the glow became brighter and brighter until it grew too painful to look at. I blinked and looked away, not wiping the tears from my eyes. When I looked back, the mammoth crystal girder had vanished.

Forty yards to go. Perry and Bernie each took an elbow, and forcibly propelled me toward the portal entrance. My legs dragged. Gloria supported Miranda, helping her swaying granddaughter with an ease that made me admire her fitness. Jor-El let another piece of himself slip down into oblivion. The legal systems of planets in the twenty-eight known galaxies faded away. Jor-El was still losing facts – what happened when he lost himself?

Thirty yards. I didn't look back. But the bright glow behind us told me that more crystal girders had dematerialized. The floor shook and crystalline shards pattered down from above. Mercifully, none of the large boulders hit us, no doubt due to Jor-El's efforts, despite his failing strength.

Twenty yards. I heard Gloria begin to pant. Miranda was barely standing, even with Gloria's help. A thundering crash announced the fall of another huge structural beam behind us.

Ten yards. Jor-El kept our link open with a desperation I'd never associated with the computer intelligence. He sent me an urgent message – the portal knowledge and control was going to be lost next. Only I could stop it. The blood ran from my face as it became clear. If Jor-El wanted to keep that knowledge, I would have to give up something. Jor-El had nothing else he could sacrifice to the yawning pit. And we needed that knowledge to keep the portal open and to get us home.

Bernie's breath came in deep gasps, but he supported me and kept up with Perry. I caught a glimpse of Gloria and Miranda out of the corner of my eye. Five yards to go. I closed my eyes and agreed.

I knew what I'd choose to lose first, and I shoved those memories forward. The time I'd spent in Zod's Fortress. The abuse I'd suffered. The horrible things I'd seen the Kryptonians do. Jor-El helped me separate those from the rest of my memories, and fed them into the gaping maw of the self-destruct imperative.

Two yards. Not enough. I scrabbled through my memories. I wanted to keep everything. But if I did, we'd all die. Faced with that stark choice, I chose survival.

I offered up Clark's memories. It was only fair – they weren't mine anyway. What I'd learned of him during that intense time when we hunted Brainac together, what I'd come to know of his character, all the personal and private thoughts he'd had that he thought no one would ever know – all that, I pushed toward Jor-El and the ravening maw that consumed greater amounts with every passing second. The self-destruct imperative gobbled them down in seconds, despite my efforts to parcel them out.

We reached the portal entrance. I didn't have to have my eyes open to sense the portal. Jor-El had closed all the other ones in his frantic attempt to save one, keep one exit open for us. With a last surge of energy, Jor-El thrust what remained of himself at me. Our link snapped.

Gloria moved up, putting Miranda between her and Bernie. Bernie kept hold of my right arm, supporting me, and Perry held my left arm. I heard their rasping breaths. Perry's pulse hammered.

Behind us, resounding crashes tolled the knell for crystal girders that fell right and left. The wind rose to a keening hurricane. The Fortress began to glow, the kryptonite dust in the air giving it a sparkling, poisonous lambency. Thunder rumbled through the structure in a monstrously low bass that made my bones vibrate.

"Come on!" I linked to the portal. It was still open and I still knew how to use it. The glow behind us grew brighter, limning our shadows starkly before us. I felt heat on my back.

I was the point of the arrowhead. I gestured everyone in closer to each other. I should have felt triumph, but instead, there was only urgency. I had to save everyone. We'd made it to the portal, though, and we were going to get home safely. At my gesture, everyone grabbed someone else and held tight. I stepped forward and pulled all of us into the portal.

The loud thunder, the glowing brightness behind us cut off abruptly. We were in a silent darkness.

Horror coursed through me. The portal didn't have a fixed exit point anymore. All the shenanigans with the Fortress had uprooted it. We were lost in limbo, stranded without a destination. I'd thought I was saving everyone, but I was only marooning them. Time pressure beat at me – the Fortress was self-destructing, even as we were lost here. What little strength I had remaining dripped away in despair.

The bit of Jor-El that remained in my head saved us. It calmed me. It showed me how to pull strength from my companions. I sensed their minds – Perry's strong steadiness, Bernie's lively curiosity, Gloria's stubborn tenacity, Miranda's vivacious thoughts dulled by exhaustion. I called on them wordlessly for help, and they gave it to me.

The Jor-El remnant showed me how to cast my mind ahead. I searched for an anchor. But I was lost at sea, stranded in a dark ocean.

Then, suddenly, there was a glimmering, a possible destination. I reached out with all my strength, pulling all of us toward it. The travel through the silent dark lasted forever, and it lasted no time at all. I neared our destination. I sluggishly formed a portal exit, and anchored it down. I pushed the others through. Miranda went first, then Gloria. I staggered at the loss of Gloria's strength. Slowly, I sent Bernie through to the other side. My mind swam with exhaustion. I built the exit again, laboriously, for Perry. He kept tight hold of me. I felt like I'd run a marathon. If I could just get Perry through… He supported me. He pulled me out with him as hard as I pushed him from inside.

The portal exit snapped shut behind me, and vanished into oblivion. I knew the Fortress was dead. The man whose mind I'd contacted looked at us in sheer astonishment. I caught one glimpse of our little group, lying exhausted on the stone floor, before I slipped into unconsciousness.


	46. Chapter 46

**Author's note: Once again, sincere thanks to my betas, Artemis and Leela! **

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* * *

**

Clark groaned. Why was he so cold? Why did he hurt so much? He slowly clawed his way back from oblivion. A biting wind nipped at his hands – maybe that was why the left one burned.

He took one deep breath and froze in agony. Cautiously, he let it out bit by bit. He became aware that he lay on his back, staring up into the sky. Weak sunlight beamed down, often obscured by clouds. He turned his head to one side and saw icy, treeless terrain. His mind grappled with the evidence of his senses, and came to the conclusion that he was in the Arctic.

He turned his head the other way. An ethereal crystalline structure came into his field of view.

_The Fortress. Martha. Lex. Chloe. Perry. _The memories cascaded back in a deluge. And with that, he recognized the pain in his left hand as being due to kryptonite exposure. He pulled his hand closer to his body and the burning sensation decreased. He looked over and saw a tiny glowing green pebble. A more thorough look revealed the meteor rock to have been shaped. This kryptonite fragment had been used as a bullet.

The frantic last minutes at the Fortress came back to him. He clenched his abdomen as he remembered Lex stabbing him. That explained why his shirt felt funny. The blood on the material had frozen solid.

Clark flogged his tired brain into action. First things first – get away from the kryptonite. He drew his legs in, brought his left arm over his body. Grunting in pain, he rolled away from the kryptonite bullet. The weak Arctic sun shone down, but even that attenuated source was enough to energize him a little more. He rolled again, ignoring the pain in his torso.

After four rolls, he was far enough away that he couldn't feel the kryptonite effects anymore. He sprawled out on his back, soaking up what little sunlight made it through the clouds. The pain in his abdomen slowly diminished, and his dazed mind began to function again.

He'd been stabbed. Clark remembered that. Lex had drawn a kryptonite dagger and had made a perfect thrust, starting low in the gut and moving higher. Clark had fallen through the portal, back into his own world. He vaguely remembered that.

He felt well enough to sit up. He ran a cautious hand over his shirt – Lex had made a hole in it, but the stretchy cotton had moved with the knife. Only one hole marred his shirt's integrity instead of it being ripped into ribbons. Of course, the frozen blood on the shirt guaranteed that it would be unusable for future wear.

Where was the dagger? As he gained more strength, Clark recalled more. He remembered trying to pull out the dagger, but being too weak to do so. Kryptonite poisoning and his life's blood pouring out had drained him.

Well, it wasn't here now. And he needed… he needed… Clark stared up at the sun in longing. The fog was beginning to lift from his mind. He hurt too much to stand, or even sit up. Could he fly? He wasn't in the range of the meteor rock pebble, and there didn't seem to be any other kryptonite in the area.

He made the mental adjustment. It seemed to take a lot more effort than usual. But he felt the wind whipping past, this time _under_ him. He was levitating! It drained his strength. He channeled all his will into rising, going higher, seeking altitude. The ground fell away beneath him.

Clark managed to float above the cloud layer. Unfiltered sunlight streamed down. His body absorbed it eagerly. He hadn't realized how hungry he had been for sun. He felt the energy fill him, restore him. He rose higher in the air, seeking a closer union, trying to get nearer to the solar orb.

As he rose upward, his hurts diminished. He tipped himself vertically with respect to the ground. His hand tentatively explored the stab wound. Tender, yes, but no longer the literal gut-clenching agony it had been before. He hovered in the open air, turning occasionally to let the sun bathe him.

His mind cleared. He was in his own world. The presence of the Fortress testified to that. If he'd been back in Martha's world, that Fortress would have been gone. But it was the sensitivity that Clark had developed during the other Earth's world-mending that told him where he was. Finally, the music of his body harmonized with the music of the world he was in. It was almost an instinctive knowing.

What had happened, there at the last? Clark cast over his memories. He'd been stabbed. Lex had surprised all of them, and had given Clark what would have been a mortal wound. Clark felt chagrin. He'd been so confident, so sure that everything was under control. It just went to show that everything could change in a heartbeat, literally.

He remembered falling through the portal, unable to even scream at the agony. There had been other pains, other kryptonite within feeling distance, he remembered vaguely, but his attention had been taken up by his gut wound. Then he'd fallen into unconsciousness.

He had woken up later, with no knife in sight, or within sensing range, and only one kryptonite pebble in the vicinity. He looked down through the clouds, using his vision powers. No knife. No kryptonite – wait, he could see the virulent green of the one pebble. Plenty of blood on the tundra, yes.

Clark tried to reconstruct what must have happened. If there was no knife in the vicinity, someone must have removed it. Since there were no tracks and no sign of anyone nearby in this world, it must have been someone from Martha's world who took care of it. And, really, who else could it have been but Martha? Who else was attuned to the presence of different worlds? Jor-El was confined to his Fortress base. It could have been Perry, Clark supposed, but that just didn't seem right somehow.

So… Martha must have stepped into his world, removed the knife, and gone back to her own. Without her actions, Clark would have died. The insane risk she had taken filled him with admiration and gratitude. "You were like a mother to me," he said quietly.

Then the corollary hit Clark with a shock. Once he left, the Fortress was supposed to self-destruct. But Martha and everyone else were still in the Fortress. Could they get out safely? Had they gotten out safely?

He ignored the fact that his internal clock told him that he'd been unconscious for hours, didn't let himself think about what that elapsed time might mean. He scanned the area again, this time looking closer.

No. The portal back to Martha's world had well and truly closed. Clark had developed a knack of sensing the portals after working with them so long. And his way back to Martha's world was gone.

He sent up a silent prayer for good luck for Martha, for Perry, for everyone else in that damaged, no-longer-dead world. Hopefully they had made it home safely. If they hadn't, well… Clark wasn't able to help them now. He sent up a second, fervent prayer.

The sunlight filled him, energized him. He felt more like himself, although he was hungry and tired. His mind ranged over the scenarios he'd discussed with Perry and Martha. They'd never planned on him being stabbed. Well, he had been. But it looked as if he were recovering from that. So, what next?

Well, in all their scenarios, they'd counted on Jor-El being able to place Clark at the same place and time where he'd been at in his universe before he'd been whisked into the other one. And if that held true, right now Brainiac was working on a plan to keep him – baby Kal-El – from ever getting off Krypton. So that meant Clark had to hustle. Was he too late already?

Clark assessed himself. The abdominal wound had healed by now, his smooth skin bearing no trace of a scar. His scrapes and scratches from the kryptonite in the Other Fortress had healed too, under the aegis of the unfiltered sunlight. He did feel a little jittery, like he'd had too much coffee and not enough food. Not that he would know, but Chloe had described that feeling to him often enough. Maybe he wasn't a hundred percent yet. With no real choice, Clark looked down and plotted a course to his own Fortress. Crazy and whacked-out it might be, but right now he needed it.

* * *

_Author's note: For this section, go ahead and read Chapter 10 of Tobiwolf13's story "Armageddon". It's available on her website, Effulgent and Smokin Cool dot com. Here's what happens: _

_ Clark goes to his Fortress, where he finds Chloe. She has used the octagonal key and the Kawatche cave portal site to come to the Fortress to plead with Jor-El. She wants Jor-El to return Clark. Chloe & Clark have a hurried reunion – no time for tales – and Jor-El uses Brainiac's spoor to chart a pathway to Krypton-of-the-past. Brainiac has gone there to prevent Baby Kal-El from ever leaving Krypton. Jor-El sends Clark and Chloe to Krypton-of-the-past. _

_ Kara – the Kara of Clark's own world – is there, fighting a losing battle against Brainiac. Clark steps into the fight, but under a red sun he doesn't have his powers. Brainiac stabs Clark, but he has forgotten or discounted Chloe. She provides the margin of victory – two Kryptonians and an Earthling defeat Brainiac. _

_Baby Kal-El is put into his spaceship, and the button pressed to start the automated procedure for getting Kal-El to Earth. Kal-El's ship lifts off safely – he will land in Smallville, Kansas, and be adopted by Martha and Jonathan Kent. Clark and the others have saved his younger self. _

_Clark and his companions catch a glimpse of the two moons that light Krypton's sky. They see the fantastical towers of the Kryptonian city fall as the earthquakes rumble and the planet careens toward its destruction. At the last minute, Kara, Chloe, and Clark get away safely, ending up back in the barn at the Kent Farm. _

_ Note that, up to now, this fic has basically followed show canon (aside from Clark's events in the alternate world) but from here on out it's going to deviate from the events of seasons 8, 9, and 10. Also, this fic differs from the ending of Tobiwol13's original "Armageddon". _

* * *

They trooped into the farmhouse kitchen, silent after seeing Krypton-That-Was. Kara looked around, no doubt comparing the primitive conditions on the Kent Farm to the high-tech Kryptonian home-slash-laboratory they had just left. Chloe sighed in relief at being back on Earth. Clark almost wept at his familiar surroundings – the pots and pans hanging there, the spice rack, the refrigerator. He felt oddly woozy.

"Chloe – " he muttered. Why did he feel so weak? Well, in the last forty-eight hours he hadn't gotten any sleep. He'd piloted a Fortress through a world-repairing mission, where landing on each new world involved intense pain. He'd fought against invaders armed with kryptonite. He'd bled himself to save another. He'd gotten stabbed in the gut, healed from that, gone back in time and space to his home world, defeated a vicious enemy, gotten stabbed again, and…

He tumbled to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Clark woke up in his own bed. Sunlight streamed through the window. He felt the coverlet and breathed a sigh of relief. He was home. He wasn't back at Metropolis base, with its hard cot and thin blanket. He wasn't in an upper story of the _Daily Planet _building. He wasn't in a crystalline Fortress. He was home. He felt it. He belonged here.

He checked himself – his jeans and shirt were off. All he wore were his boxer shorts.

Kara poked her head in the door. "Kal! You're up!" At his welcoming smile she stepped in all the way. "You've been asleep for _two days_."

"Two days?" he managed to croak out.

Kara nodded. "Chloe waited, but she had to go to work today. She made me promise I'd stay with you. Are you all right, Kal?"

"I'm… all right." Clark felt too tired to get into long explanations at this point.

"Good, then!" Was Kara always that cheerful in the mornings? Egad, she was exhausting. "I can cook you breakfast. I have to talk to you."

Well, _that_ was alarming. At least the cooking part. "OK, Kara. Um, let me just get a shower before you start cooking, OK?"

"Sure, Kal. I'll meet you in the kitchen." His cousin pranced away. Despite her energy, she seemed a little preoccupied.

Clark managed to hoist himself out of bed – although right now it looked comfortable enough to be worth spending another eight hours there – and down the hall to the bathroom. A hot shower did much to perk him up. Washing away the dried blood was as much a mental cleaning as a physical one.

Except… as he stood under the water, he flashed back to Martha's memories. Back to where he _was _Martha, showering to clean herself after Zod's attack on her. He lived her rage and fear and hate as the tears ran down his face.

He looked down at his fingers and realized that the slippery feeling was because he'd crushed the soap into fragments. He pulled his mind away from her memories, shuddering. God, how had Martha ever functioned at all, carrying this burden?

He padded back to his room and dressed in clean clothes. He chanced a glimpse through the walls with his deep vision – he never did that when his mother was home – and saw Kara looking at the dishes with some confusion. She still wasn't totally sure about Earthian table settings.

Clark came downstairs at regular speed and greeted her. She smiled back. Fortunately for his breakfast aspirations, he stopped Kara before she poured orange juice into the breakfast cereal. Clark was glad she hadn't tried anything more ambitious, like eggs or waffles.

They ate in a companionable silence for about five minutes. Kara broke it.

"Kal."

"Yes?"

"I want to say that I'm really grateful to you and Aunt Martha for giving me a home, and showing me around here."

"Thank you. And you know you're always welcome. You're family." Clark felt his heart leap within his chest as he realized the truth of those words. Kara _was _family. On this world, he _had_ a family. He had a mother who loved him. He had a cousin. He wasn't alone.

"But…"

"What is it, Kara?" Clark asked her uneasily.

"When we were on Krypton… after we killed Brainiac… "

"Yes?"

"You and Chloe were looking out the window, but I was checking the files for information."

"I suppose that's a good thing," Clark said cautiously.

"Kal, I found something." Kara seemed agitated.

"What?"

"We're not the only Kryptonians left, at least I don't think so. In the files, there was something about Kandor."

"Kandor?"

"Kandor. You know, the city on Krypton?" At Clark's uncomprehending glance, Kara realized that no, he didn't know. "Oh yeah. You were only a baby when you left."

"Yes," Clark agreed. He thought about reminding Kara that they'd just gone back in time and space to make sure that Baby Him got sent to Earth, but decided against it.

"Kandor was a city on the North Continent," Kara said, semi-apologetically. "From what the files said, I think that many Kandorians may have escaped Krypton before it was destroyed."

"Really?" Clark asked. His insides fluttered. What if these Kandorians came to Earth? He must have internalized some of the other Martha's feelings. More Kryptonians on Earth weren't necessarily a good thing. _He _was OK, certainly, because he'd been raised here, and Kara was his family and she was basically a good person, but what if a whole bunch of Kryptonians decided to colonize Earth? What if some of them weren't nice? He'd just been in that scenario. "Do you know where they went?"

"No, I don't, Kal." Kara looked unwontedly serious. "But there was a direction." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to look for them."

Clark choked on his mouthful of cereal. "What?"

"Look, Kal, I've got a ship, and a goal. Besides, what's for me _here_?" Her gesture highlighted the Kansas landscape outside the kitchen window.

_Everything,_ Clark thought. _Everything._ "What about my mom?" he asked. "I know she thinks of you as a daughter."

Kara sighed. "I spoke with Aunt Martha already, while you were sleeping. I told her about it." She took a deep breath. "She said she'd miss me, but it was OK."

"Really?" Clark shouldn't have been surprised. When he thought about it, his mother had always been all about him making his own mistakes. And, when he thought about it, who was to say that Kara was making a mistake? It was just that, darn it, he'd just gotten home to his family after a year away, and now his only blood relative wanted to leave. He hadn't even told her about his stay in the alternate world yet.

"Really. I told her, there was this guy…" Kara trailed off.

Surprised, Clark blurted out, "I thought you were from Argo City." He swallowed and continued in a lower voice, "Argo City. Kandor. Two different cities, right?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Kal, but I spent some time in Kandor with Var-Po." Kara had a distant look in her eyes.

Clark's surprise died, leaving him bleak. "Let me guess. That whole 'planet about to explode' thing kind of interrupted your stay."

Kara looked just as bleak. "Right. I thought my father was just being paranoid, you know, it was a false alarm or something, and I could go back and be with Var-Po afterwards." She paused. "It didn't work out that way."

"I'm sorry."

"Kal, I have to know. I have to know what happened to them. I have to know if the Kandorians are still alive somewhere."

"I understand," Clark said softly. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm most sorry that you're leaving." He went to her and hugged her. "I'll miss you."

Kara hugged him back. She was the only person on this entire world, Clark realized, who he could hug with his full strength, the only person who understood what it felt like to have his strange abilities. Once she left, there would be no one who understood.

"I'll miss you too, Kal," she whispered. They let go of each other and she stepped back. "You could come, too," she suggested.

"No." Clark didn't even have to think about it. "My home is here." He realized how lucky he was, really. He'd come to Earth as a baby. He didn't remember Krypton, not like Kara. Earth was a foreign country to her. She could never go home. He _was_ home.

"I knew you'd say that." She smiled sadly. "If my mother were still alive, I wouldn't want to leave her, either. I'll miss Aunt Martha."

"And pie," Clark prompted.

Kara smiled. "And pie."

They shared a look. "I've already made all my good-byes," Kara said. "I was just waiting for you to wake up."

"Thank you." Clark felt chilled at the thought that she might have left, gone off to flit around the galaxy without waiting for him. But she hadn't.

"I don't know when I'll be back." _Or **if** I'll be back, _she carefully didn't say.

"Whenever you do, whatever you find, you're welcome here," Clark repeated. "If… well, if you need a home, come here." They moved toward each other again, hugged again for a long time.

"Thank you, Kal." She stepped back from his arms, and gave him one last look. "Good-bye."

And then she was gone.

* * *

Clark focused his vision on the rapidly departing form of his cousin. To a human, Kara would have just vanished, but Clark could see her departing at speed. "Good luck, Kara," he murmured. He understood what it was to seek something. After all, he'd worked hard in the other world to get back to this one.

And on that note… he had something to do. Clark pulled on his spare red jacket. He'd worn the regular one when he'd been swept into the other world, and it had burned up when he first practiced flying. He smiled thinly at the memory. Martha had been with him then, trembling whenever he looked at her. He understood so much better now why she had been like that. In fact…

He had a bizarre flashback. _He looked at Martha from across the room. His heart clenched at her obvious fear. He gave up all thought of teasing her. He only wanted to protect her, keep her safe. He wanted her to know that she had nothing to fear from him, that he would take care of her. _And, at the same time, he remembered their meeting from a different perspective: _He stood across the room from the giant Kryptonian, the alien who called himself Clark Kent. A paralyzing fear thrummed through his veins. And he had signed up to travel with this… this alien. Why had he ever done that? The alien would hurt him. _

Clark sighed. The Martha memories in his head… they were starting to assimilate and become his own. It was especially weird and bizarre when there were memories of times they were both together. Then Clark got the same meeting from two different points of view. And since Martha's memories usually had more intense emotions attached to them, Clark tended to remember her memories more vividly than his own.

He'd been so busy in the alternate world, preparing for that Earth's repair and for his leaving, that he'd hardly slept. He'd had no _time_ to be thumbing through Martha's memories. But now, he was home, the tremendous stress he was under had been alleviated, and he'd gotten a good night's sleep. Two night's sleep, actually. And it seemed like those 'alien' memories wanted to make themselves at home… He barely stopped himself from falling into another pool of memories that weren't his own.

God, how had Martha ever functioned at all? The things she'd seen, the abuse she'd undergone, all made Clark, well, very uneasy. If that was the right word to describe the horror he felt at some of her experiences. As he thought about the task of facing, every day, what had happened to his alternate world mother, he wondered if he could do as good a job in living his future life as Martha had. She hadn't broken, and she'd made a useful life for herself, after her civilization was overthrown and her world destroyed. Could he have done as well?

And that was only the public Martha. Clark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pay no attention to a sudden flashback of Martha and Jonathan as newlyweds, heading to the bedroom… He did _not _want to know. He didn't.

Clark forced the unwelcome flashbacks behind a mental brick wall. He had a job to do and he would need all his wits about him. He stepped outside, enjoying the spring weather, the smell of the turned earth, ready for planting. But farm work was off the agenda today. He had to go to the Fortress.

He barely stopped himself from lifting off right there. At the last moment, long-disused reflexes cut in, and Clark paled at what he'd almost done. He shouldn't forget. He was back in his own world now, where he had to conceal his abilities. It was surprising how much that irked him.

_Gee, it's ironic, _Clark thought. _Everyone was dubious about me and what I was going to do, but I could fly openly. Everybody knew it was a Kryptonian up in the sky. It was just, "Meh. He's flying again." If I fly now…_ Clark shuddered, thinking of the media attention, the radars, the tracking, possibly being mistaken as a missile, and other nightmares.

He sighed and took off running. What had seemed so speedy in the past now seemed impossibly slow. And yes, he recognized the irony there. Clark made it to the Canadian border in two minutes. He found a likely-looking patch of forest, and lifted off from there. The flying soothed him and he thought uneasily of how quickly he'd become, well, addicted to it. But having known its freedom, he would not lightly give it up.

He debated with himself about going for a quick spin around the world, just because he could, and because he wanted to. But Clark knew he was delaying the inevitable confrontation. He flew under the inevitable cloud cover, and landed at the Fortress.

Clark stood just outside its gargantuan gateway. He got another Martha-memory flash – _she stood at the threshold of their Fortress, although she didn't know it was partly hers yet, wondering, worrying. _The flashes wouldn't be so bad if he didn't get all the emotional context along with the memory. And most of Martha's emotions in the past four years were angry or despairing.

In this particular long and rambling and confused memory, she was incredibly afraid about what was going to happen, because she'd been held prisoner and horribly abused in the Fortress, and she worried about what Clark was going to do, because, after all, he could do almost anything, he had the power, and she worried about what _she_ was going to do, because she might have to kill Clark, but she really didn't want to, (even if she could, which would be really hard to do, and then she'd die, and that was OK, but Perry would die too and that wasn't fair, but life wasn't fair) because she kind of liked him, but after all, he was Kryptonian, and look what they'd done to her and…

_Stop. Just stop_. He had to stop re-living Martha's memories. He felt like he'd just pulled himself out of quicksand and that the sand and mud still weighed down his boots. Stop it, Clark, he told himself.

But… he thought of something and deliberately went looking. He found Martha's courage at her lowest point. Zod had raped her, Brainiac taken her freedom of will, and she refused to curl up and die. She kept on fighting. Clark pulled those memories out, and hung onto them.

And with that, he strode into the Fortress.

"Kal-El," the voice of the AI came from above, bodiless and imposing, as it had every time Clark had come here. Why had he never questioned that before? "I did not expect you."

"Jor-El, I require an avatar," Clark said, not replying to the AI's veiled question. He would have to tread carefully in this… well, not corrupted, but certainly twisted, Fortress.

"Very well, my son." There was a brief sparkle and then Jor-El's holographic image appeared. It looked just like the Jor-El in the Fortress in the alternate world.

Clark didn't let the AI get a word in edgewise. "I would like to examine the logs of human interaction. You may start with the girl called Kara." This was _not_ his Kryptonian cousin, but a girl whose actual name was Lindsay. Jor-El had picked her up off the street somewhere, and had somehow managed to give her Kryptonian powers. She had actually flown.

The AI blinked. Was it surprised at Clark taking the lead? "Very well." The avatar waved a hand and a crystal rose out of the control console. "I will guide you."

Clark glanced curiously at the avatar. On second thought, was it just a little different from the Jor-El he had known in the other universe? It certainly seemed less straightforward. "Very well," Clark said in turn.

He bent to his task. The AI was mildly helpful, but Clark found that he needed to reconstruct things on his own. He quickly found two interesting facts. One – the girl Lindsay had been not been able to fly on her own, as of course no human would have been. She had been healthy – a complete physical scan had revealed her to be a normal human. The flying had been done by ingenious energy manipulations performed by the AI.

Two – Lindsay had been an automaton. The Fortress had taken over her mind and used her ruthlessly. Her free will had been suppressed, her feeble objections overridden. And, in the end, she'd been killed, vaporized in a bright flash that left not even ashes.

Clark's stomach roiled. These were the kind of things that Zod had done. The fact that his own Fortress had done them… "I would like to draw your attention to violations of Kryptonian ethics," he said, keeping a mild tone with great effort. _Yeah, violations like using this girl as a meat puppet._

The avatar shrugged. "At the time, Kal-El, it was necessary to persuade you to come and take your training. You were reluctant. The ends justified the means."

"My training - !" Clark cut himself off. He had no conscious recollection of that summer of four years ago. He'd gotten the full story from his parents and friends later on. The AI had lured him into the Kawatche caves by holding out Lindsay as bait, describing her as another Kryptonian. Clark had been interested enough to follow. But Jonathan had asked Chloe to do some research, and Chloe had found out that Lindsay was actually human.

Jonathan had come pelting after Clark, who had been half-eager to get his training. After all, what did he know about his ancestry? Wouldn't it be good to learn something about his Kryptonian background?

But when Jonathan had told him that Lindsay wasn't Kryptonian, Clark had realized that the lure was a fake. But it was too late. He had been sucked into the portal, and apparently had undergone some sort of indoctrination that suppressed his human cultural identity and left him as the cold, emotionless Kryptonian Kal-El. As a bonus, the Fortress had struck back at his father and had put Jonathan into a months-long coma.

Clark had been brought back to himself only by a concatenation of bizarre circumstances. He'd been returned to the Smallville area – in a cornfield, actually - as the emotionless Kryptonian, accompanied by a suitably dramatic crackle of lightning. Lois Lane had been driving along and she saw him. She picked him up – after all, he was nude and amnesiac, and Lois certainly couldn't resist something like that – and had taken him to the Smallville Medical Center.

There, Clark had run into his mother, who was there on one of her innumerable visits to care for his comatose father. Unfortunately, Clark hadn't recognized her as his mother. All knowledge of his human family had been suppressed. But she'd quickly taken charge, gotten him out of the medical center before any betraying physical exams could be done, and gotten him home.

Right after that, Kal-El had heard a tone which had led him to one of the crystalline elements that had founded this Fortress. Clark, still the cold, emotionless Kal-El, had flown to Lex Luthor's jet and confiscated the element. He'd set it in the Kawatche caves, and had prepared to search for the other two. But his mother had come, armed with black kryptonite. Kal-El had been angry, and had wanted to hurt Clark's mother. But the rare isotope had actually split Clark in two, the human-raised half coming out of suppression and warring with the cold, programmed Kal-El. Clark had won, and had defeated Jor-El's programming. At that same time, he found out later, Jonathan had awakened from his coma. Clark thought of it as "breaking the spell."

Now, with the avatar waiting patiently, Clark examined the records. He'd grown up quite a lot in the other world. He'd done quite a bit more with the Fortress there. And he'd learned quite a bit about how the Fortress worked.

So it wasn't much of a surprise to see that this Fortress had arranged for all those things to happen. Mostly, it was a development and variation on the telepathic link he'd shared with Martha and the alternate Jor-El.

Clark scanned the records in interest. The AI had seduced Lindsay with promises of superhuman powers. She'd been interested, and had given enough consent to let Jor-El in. Once the AI been granted permission to be in her head, it had taken over.

The AI hadn't even asked permission with Jonathan. It had merely swatted him down like an annoying pest, putting him into a coma. In fact, this Jor-El had thought about killing Jonathan, but had decided against it on the grounds that it might turn Clark against him.

Clark went further back, to a place and time he tried to forget. It was the summer he'd spent in Metropolis, the summer he wore a red kryptonite ring. Jor-El had branded him with a scar on his chest, a crude version of his House symbol. And Jor-El would make the scar burn at intervals, causing Clark intense pain that would not stop until Clark took off his red-K ring.

"I did that to save you, my son," the avatar offered. "Constant exposure to the mineral would have damaged you."

"Right," Clark said tersely. This Jor-El seemed all too willing to play God.

He went through the records. He looked at the time he had lost his powers. It was right after the Fortress had been formed, right after the three crystalline elements had been combined. Clark had thrown the combined elements into the Arctic ice, and the Fortress had sprung up.

Chloe had managed to follow Clark through the Kawatche cave portal, and had ended up in the Arctic. Of course she'd headed for the Fortress, as it was the only possible shelter. Clark had been undergoing an educational download – Jor-El having apparently decided that just suppressing his human memories and re-programming him wasn't going to work – and Chloe had interrupted that.

Jor-El had acted quickly and decisively, attempting to kill Chloe. (Although now that Clark had experience with intruder control in the other Fortress, he thought some of that might have actually been a pre-programmed response.) Chloe had called Clark and he'd broken out of the download. The AI had spouted some ominous-sounding words about "You must complete your training" coupled with unspecified threats and forebodings. Clark had bargained with the AI – he would get Chloe to safety and then return.

The meteor shower in Smallville had put the kibosh on those plans. It was lucky Clark had gone to Smallville. A black spaceship had landed there, carrying Nam-Ek and Aethyr, there to scout and make the world ready for Zod. Clark had managed to defeat them and send them to the Phantom Zone. After seeing the other world, Clark trembled to realize how close his world had been to becoming like the blasted, dead Earth where he'd just spent a year.

But he hadn't made it back to the Fortress by sunset, as he'd promised. And so Jor-El had stripped Clark of his Kryptonian powers – or so Clark thought. Now, as Clark looked over the records, he realized that Jor-El had done nothing of the kind. Clark had actually retained his powers. What Jor-El had done was use the telepathic link to block Clark's ability to use his powers. But Clark had believed Jor-El, and had believed he was human now. In fact, he'd believed Jor-El so much that when Clark was shot a few weeks later, he'd subconsciously allowed his invulnerability to lapse. He'd ended up fighting for his life from a gunshot wound to the chest – all because he believed he was no longer invulnerable. A classic case of mind over body.

And… Clark frowned as other events became clear. He'd been brought to the Fortress and healed, although he now suspected that all Jor-El had done was remove the mental blocks so that his own natural healing abilities would work. Jor-El, though, had played him like a trout, telling Clark that someone else would have to die in his place. And Clark had believed that.

He had believed that he didn't deserve to live, that the life force he took after the Fortress 'healed him' would be taken from another in turn, in some sort of cosmic balance. But if that wasn't true…

Clark scrabbled back through the records, looking for the time he'd spent the summer in Metropolis under the influence of red kryptonite. His father Jonathan had come to bring him back home. Of course, since Clark had been wearing the red-K ring at the time, Jonathan had had to slap some sense into Clark first. And it would have been pretty dangerous to be the human in a human-Kryptonian slapdown.

So Jonathan had gone to the Fortress and asked for Kryptonian abilities. Jor-El had been happy to oblige – it had given him access into Jonathan's mind. Jonathan was an adult, stubborn and opinionated – he was no soft prey like girlish, immature Lindsay. Jor-El would never have been able to arrange Jonathan's later coma if he hadn't had Jonathan's earlier consent for a different reason.

And so Jonathan had gone haring off to Metropolis. He'd met his son. There they'd had a knock-down, drag-out fight that left plenty of property damage for the police to puzzle over later on. Clark had won in the end, and had had his father at his mercy. Jonathan had cried out, "Go ahead! If I could raise a son that would kill, then kill!"

Clark still remembered the horror that had come over him then, even under the red-K influence. Instead of hitting his father, he'd hit the ring and destroyed it, shattering the deadly mineral into powder. Once its pernicious influence was removed, Clark came back to himself, and then it was all over except for the apologizing. Which took months.

Enough with the reminiscences. Clark went through the records of that time very carefully. Jor-El had done a complete physical scan on Jonathan and had found... "What?" Clark muttered. He'd been certain that his adopted father had been healthy, and that it was the strain of having the Kryptonian powers which had led to Jonathan's death from a heart attack three years later. Clark had believed that. The logical corollary: it was Clark's fault that Jonathan died. If Jonathan hadn't had to come to Metropolis to get Clark, then he wouldn't have needed the Kryptonian powers. And if Jonathan hadn't used the Kryptonian powers, he wouldn't have strained his heart to the extent that it was fatal three years later.

But, according to the records, the Fortress had supplied the energy and the controls for the powers, and Jonathan had only been the director. Wielding the powers had actually been no drain on Jonathan's life force.

But, according to Jor-El's scan, at the time Jonathan went to Metropolis, he already had serious coronary artery disease, hypertension, and atherosclerosis. Clark suddenly remembered that his grandfather, Jonathan's father Hiram, had died at age fifty of a heart attack.

Could it be that Clark hadn't killed his father after all? Was all his guilt misplaced? Was it just pre-existing risk factors combined with an inherited family susceptibility to heart disease? For so long, Clark had believed that it was his fault. His fault that his father had had to go to Metropolis to find him. His fault that his father had had to wield the Kryptonian powers. His fault that his father's life force had been burned up by the wielding. And now he discovered that the whole thing was a lie. The Fortress had deliberately led him to believe a cruel lie.

Why? Why would Jor-El do this? Clark realized with a jolt that this Fortress wasn't like the one in the other world, jointly owned by him and Martha. In this world, the crystalline elements that combined to form the Fortress seed had been contaminated by human blood. Whose blood? Genevieve Teague's. Clark had known her son Jason, who had courted Lana as a ruse to find out more about the elements. He'd thought Jason was OK at first, but later had found out that Jason was a pawn of his mother, a wealthy woman who sought power by any means.

By any means… that had an uncomfortable sound. Was it the Genevieve Teague part of this Fortress that was so cavalier about using people, overriding their free will, killing them? Was it the human in the Fortress who was so interested in getting Clark under control, trying to make him the emotionless, programmed Kal-El? Was it her influence that made the Fortress so unstable, so… crackpotty?

Clark requested records on Genevieve Teague. Not surprisingly, the AI had collected information from all over the world, and could fulfill his request. The more Clark researched, the more he realized that his supposition was correct. As Perry in the alternate world had said, "Genevieve Teague was a piece of work."

Certainly the alternate Fortress hadn't been so… whacked out. Because, Clark realized, the AI in that version had been tempered by Martha Clark, his mother's counterpart in the alternate world. She had integrity and courage and a strong moral character. Genevieve Teague may have had courage, but she certainly didn't have integrity. And Teague's moral character seemed be summed up as follows: Do whatever is expedient.

Clark felt the tendrils of the AI's mental probe, and brushed them away. Dealing with the Fortress in the alternate universe had sharpened Clark's mental skills, just like daily use of his physical abilities had led to fine control. He turned back to the data log and went further.

_Hmm… I didn't know Mom and Lois were here. _But apparently, Brainiac had tried to kidnap them on Dark Thursday and had arranged for their airplane to take an unscheduled detour. But Clark had defeated Brainiac (the first time), and the womens' plane crashed with Brainiac's defeat. His mother had dragged an unconscious Lois on an improvised travois to the Fortress, and the AI had sent them safely back to Smallville.

Clark checked the data log, finding records of all those who had visited the Fortress. _Chloe again… Raya… Zor-El… Lara… _"For a place that's supposed to be in the middle of nowhere, this Fortress sure attracts a lot of traffic," Clark muttered. Of course, he had to admit that it was more about him – his friends and enemies naturally followed him wherever he went, which included the Fortress.

Clark quickly scanned through the rest of the data log. The final entry horrified him.

"Andrea Rojas?" he blurted out. "Andrea was _here_?" Belatedly he remembered the fight with Andrea in the alternate world. Weakened by kryptonite and facing an opponent nearly as strong as he, Clark had managed to feint Andrea into the portal to this world. He'd thought at the time that she would end up at the Kent Farm. In fact, that was one of the things on his to-do list – track Andrea down. What he'd do when he found her – well, he hadn't decided that yet.

But it seemed she'd landed in the Arctic when she popped through the inter-universal portal, just like Clark had later on. Not being blessed with flight or super-speed among her abilities, Andrea had naturally headed to the nearest (and only) shelter in the area – the Fortress. And…

"You killed her? _You killed her?_" Clark clenched his fists. Turning to the avatar, he shouted, "What did you do? How could you kill her?"

"Intruder control, Kal-El – "

"Don't give me that. A lot of people have come here in the past few years and you haven't frozen them to death." Clark could barely choke out the words, he was so angry. And guilty. This was his Fortress. How could it have slipped out of his control that badly? How could it have done something like this?

The avatar morphed just slightly, and for a second Clark got a glimpse of a female face. Was this the Genevieve Teague part of the AI? Disturbingly, it seemed to have taken over much of the Fortress control.

"A mental scan of this person showed that she intended harm to you, Kal-El. This Fortress is charged with protecting you."

"Not by killing someone! That's wrong!"

"She would have harmed you, Kal-El."

"Just because someone _might_ do something doesn't mean they will. And there is no excuse for killing her!"

"This Fortress is charged with protecting you, Kal-El."

"If that's what you call _protecting_ me, then I don't need your protection." This was it. He was responsible. He had to deal with this out-of-control structure and its insane Artificial Intelligence. Clark spoke a Kryptonian phrase in a quiet, forceful tone. _"Jor-El, I declare the dissolution of this Fortress." _


	47. Chapter 47

_From the previous chapter:_

This was it. He was responsible. He had to deal with this out-of-control structure and its insane Artificial Intelligence. Clark spoke a Kryptonian phrase in a quiet, forceful tone. _"Jor-El, I declare the dissolution of this Fortress." _

* * *

The AI in the other world had coached him through the simulated procedure. Clark wanted to dissolve the Fortress back into its component elements. Then the elements could be cleaned of the contamination and re-combined. The re-instantiated Fortress would be Clark's alone, with no foreign influences, unless he chose to have someone take hold of the crystals along with him at the time of their joining, or unless their blood was on one or more crystals at the time of combining. And, seeing the burden that "owning" half the Fortress had placed on the other world's Martha, Clark didn't intend to lay that burden upon anyone else.

"What?" the avatar asked, apparently startled. Obviously it didn't expect Clark to know the Kryptonian ritual.

_"I declare the dissolution of this Fortress." _

The avatar waited, dumbstruck. Before, Clark wouldn't have imagined the AI could have such a human response, but again his experience in the other world taught him it could.

With the assurance of training, Clark stood at the control console and repeated the phrase. He would have to speed to the compass points – east, south, west, and north in that order, and repeat the phrase at each point. He would have to fly to the top of the Fortress, to the apex of its interior, and say the phrase again there, and then say it again a final time once more at the control console.

At the second stop, he began to notice resistance. The mental pushback became stronger at each point. At the third point, the Fortress began to speak.

_"Kal-El, what is this? You are misled." _ Clark continued grimly. There would be no negotiating. _"Do you know what you are doing?" _

Clark knew. The Fortress was trying to get him to respond. If he broke down and said something in the middle of the ritual, he would be unable to try again for a day. Surely the Fortress would try some trickery to delay its dissolution.

He went on, pushing through the resistance that grew harder with each compass point. He made it to the northern compass point and spoke the phrase. One point to go, and then the final phrase again at the control console.

The Jor-El in the alternate world had warned him of this. The Fortress was one of the finest examples of Kryptonian technology. Most such tech could be formed and destroyed, but could not be dissolved and then re-formed. The Fortress was unique in its ability to re-instantiate.

The Fortress depended heavily on the mind of the member of the House of El who combined the crystals at the time of instantiation. The El member in turn developed close mental links with the Fortress. And this Fortress had been specially made for Clark. It was his at the beginning and he was determined it would only be his.

Those mental links were why the corrupted Fortress had been able to manipulate the young and naïve Clark. Clark had thought, after consulting with the alternate Jor-El, that he would be able to sever those links while doing no damage to his own mind. He had done so, in fact, in the other world, while fighting with Lex and the others, knowing that he would have to leave soon. But the Jor-El in the alternate world, no doubt influenced by Martha, had been willing.

This Fortress had other ideas… and it definitely wasn't a willing participant to its own dissolution.

The corrupted AI lashed out mercilessly at Clark. Uneasily, Clark realized it was really corrupted and not just twisted. In either case, it wasn't of a mind to let itself die, for surely dissolution was death for it. The Fortress attacked Clark, putting its powers into the mental links it had formed back when the Jor-El intelligence first instantiated itself. They were long-standing mental links, and strong. Clark hadn't realized how strong those links were, in fact. He staggered as the mental blow acted with physical force. A cold sensation coursed through his gut. Instantly he realized he had been over-confident in his ability to break the links.

Clark persevered with the determination he'd learned from Jonathan Kent and polished in the other world. He fought back against the mental invasion, frantic and vicious as it was. He kept on flying upward to the apex, not caring that his pace was glacial. That gave him more time to detach each mental tendril. He was glad, suddenly, that he'd fought off Brainiac in the other world. That had prepared him for life-or-death mental battles. He grinned as he thought of Martha and how she'd helped him. In fact… he pulled out some of her memories and armored himself with their knowledge.

The Fortress switched tactics. Clark was only halfway to the apex. It stopped its general attack and concentrated its links solely on his memories and his flying ability. It kept him from moving quickly while it attached itself to memories.

_Should you ordain the dissolution of this Fortress, Kal-El, you will be an empty shell. _Ultimatum time. Clark knew it was no empty threat. The velvet glove was off the iron fist. If he persisted in dissolving the Fortress, the AI would fight back and take whatever it could of Clark's own memories with it. It would be an Orwellian "down the memory hole" outcome, leaving Clark without knowledge of his earlier life.

Clark felt the AI's determination to live. This was no mere machine intelligence. The human blood that had contributed to the generation of this Fortress was fighting back. Clark sensed the AI's split personality. It was one part Jor-El, who was as horrified as Clark himself was at the things this Fortress intelligence had done, and was therefore willing to submit to dissolution, knowing it would mean a re-instantiation at a later time. And it was one part Genevieve Teague, manipulator and user _par excellence_, facing true extinction, wanting power at any cost. And what power could be greater than that of controlling the only Kryptonian on Earth?

Clark steeled his will. He would not let this insane Fortress kill or injure anyone else. It was his responsibility. Even if dissolving it left him injured, he would break it.

_You always take the hardest way,_ a voice chided him. Jeez, was he going insane? He already heard two voices from the Fortress. Then Clark realized that the Martha memories inside him had taken on a life of their own.

_Martha?_ Clark asked silently. He felt the uncomfortable rustling of his alternate-mother's memories.

_I want to save you for once, Clark,_ Martha said. Or at least the version he had in his head said that. Whatever. Whichever. At least, unlike the insane Fortress, Martha was on his side. _You saved me. It's my turn now. _

Clark remembered all the times that Martha had stood up to him, petrified with fear and still confronting the Kryptonian. Martha was well-versed in fighting Kryptonian would-be conquerors. Clark barely kept his own identity as her memories suddenly flooded to the fore. He shuddered but managed to keep afloat, not stopping in his quest to achieve the Fortress apex.

_Let me save you,_ she repeated. Martha shoved herself forward, kicking at the mental links that bound Clark to the Fortress. The links gladly attached on to her. It made sense, Clark thought. The Martha memories were fresh and strong.

Clark made a little more progress in his flight to the highest point. The AI kept its threat. Clark saw… felt… touched… some memories slipping away. But it was the Martha memories that the AI took. Clark had a strange "double vision". He lost Martha's memory of flying with him. And yet he retained the memory of flying with Martha, from his own point of view.

The AI took another bite, and Clark sensed Martha's years of marriage with Jonathan slipping out of his grasp. He knew, theoretically, that his mother's counterpart had spent years with her Jonathan before they divorced, but he no longer had the intimate knowledge of her marriage, their fights, her monthly depression over her inability to conceive, their work on the farm together, their nights in bed, at first joyous, later on dutiful and finally a burden…

Clark concentrated on hiding his own memories from the AI and flying up to the apex. The AI swooped down again and sucked away the most recent year of Martha's life. With a pang, Clark felt his strange double viewpoint – the events of the last year seen from his side and seen by Martha, but now shared – dwindle into a single viewpoint. How Martha had felt about seeing him, working with him, flying with him – all gone.

He reached the apex. Time to say the phrase. He choked it out. _"I declare the dissolution of this Fortress." _One more and he was done.

It was a lot easier and faster to drop down than it had been to fly up. Clark plummeted. The AI was caught by surprise for a moment, but then redoubled its efforts. It was a race – could the AI drain him before he managed to dissolve it?

Clark felt a remnant of Martha. He had an ace in the hole. His mother – and although the alternate-world Martha Clark hadn't been his mother at first, she had become that in the year they'd spent together – protected him, no matter what world he was in.

The Martha-remnant sent him a faint wisp, just the memory of love. Then, even that was gone as the hungry AI ate away the last vestige of Martha's memories. Clark shuddered again. If he had been alone in his head, if Martha and he hadn't shared, if he hadn't lived her life during the time they stalked and killed Brainiac together – then he would have been the shell the AI threatened. He would have been empty and mindless, an automaton ready for the Fortress to re-program as it saw fit.

But thanks to Martha, he'd been spared that. Clark put his hand on the control console with triumph. _"I declare the dissolution of this Fortress," _he said for the final time.

The AI screamed. Was it out loud or only in Clark's head? He felt the final mental links snap. The numerous tendrils withered away. The Fortress began to vibrate, a deep bass hum reverberating through Clark's bones. The large girders began to glow with an unearthly brightness.

Clark scanned quickly. There was nothing to hold him now. He lifted off, flying through the opening at the top of the Fortress. No force fields restrained him this time. He hovered above, watching the dissolution.

The humming grew louder, gaining overtones and harmonics. The girders glowed more brightly, and the smaller beams began to glow as well. The brightness cycled up to a level greater than any human could have withstood. Clark viewed it from above, shading his eyes with his hand. And… was that a _body_ silhouetted in one of the alcoves? Grimly, Clark realized that Andrea Rojas's final disposition would mimic that of her killer. Both her body and the Fortress would disintegrate.

With a tremendous thunderclap, the Fortress disappeared. A flash of light speared its way into the heavens, cutting through the cloud cover above. Clark barely had time to move out of its way. It took a few seconds for even his eyes to recover from that bright flash. When the dazzle faded, instinct prompted Clark to look down.

Three irregularly shaped crystalline elements lay on the Arctic ground. Clark swooped down to the first, and scooped it up. He put it into a lead bag. He was prepared. The other Jor-El had told him he needed to separate the elements from each other until they were cleansed. So Clark had brought several of the many lead-lined containers from the Kent Farm.

Most families wouldn't have lead-lined containers lying around, Clark mused as he headed over to the second element. But most families didn't have alien sons who were weakened by radioactive meteor rock that could be neutralized by putting it behind lead. The second element quivered under his grasp. He quickly bagged it and stuck it into his pocket – a separate pocket from where the first element was.

Warned by the tremble, Clark used all his speed to go the thousand meters to the final element. As he suspected, that element trembled also. It was getting ready to take off and hide in some remote corner of the Earth, as it was programmed to do. But Clark reached it in time, just as it rose from the ground. At the touch of his hand, the tremble stopped and the element dropped into his hand. He studied it closely. Red liquid marred its surface. This, then, was the element which had been contaminated by Genevieve Teague's blood. A quick sniff confirmed it. He double-wrapped this element, and stuck it into a third pocket.

Clark heaved a sigh of relief. It was done. He'd successfully dissolved the Fortress. The clouds were beginning to move away, no longer held above the Fortress by Kryptonian fiat. He would have to leave soon. The loss of the cloud cover would make him visible to satellite surveillance. And certainly that intense light that accompanied the Fortress dissolution would attract attention.

He just needed a minute to rest. Clark sat down, ignoring the snow. He took a few deep breaths. That had been closer than he liked to think about. The Fortress, in its insanity, had almost defeated him. Had it not been for Martha, it would have.

Clark rummaged around inside his own head. That weird double feeling was gone. He cast his mind back to his first real meeting with Martha. As expected, he remembered only his determination to assuage her fears and protect her. That memory of cowering back from the Kryptonian… himself… Martha's memory – it was gone. He had his memory of her remembering it, but not her point of view anymore.

In some ways, it was a relief. Clark didn't have to build mental walls to keep from learning too much about his parents' love life. But he also felt an unexpected sorrow. He'd lost Martha. This was it. This was final. There had been that connection, even though she was, hopefully, safe in the other world. But Clark had had that last little bit of her. He'd lived her life, had _been_ her, there in the fight with Brainac. He'd known her more intimately than he'd ever known anyone, even himself. And now she was gone.

He felt he should say a prayer, or something, because it was like a death. The trembling from his pockets made him realize what he should do. The Elements! The best memorial to Martha would be a clean Fortress, a Fortress devoted to the service of humanity, not to its subjugation.

Not caring if the tracking radars caught him this time, Clark lifted off. He poured on the speed, leaving Earth's atmosphere in seconds. His destination wasn't hard to find – the Moon was right there.

He headed straight for it, and made a mental note that he would have to check on the whereabouts and the current assignments of the space telescopes in orbit. Hopefully his speed was such that he'd appear a blur, but there was always that freak chance of having his face photographed in living color, and posted on astronomical websites worldwide. Certainly a human-shaped body without spacesuit, air tanks, or propulsion devices would be of great interest.

Clark zipped around the Moon's far side. No one on Earth could see him now. He absently thought about exhaling and seeing if he really needed to breathe, but decided against it. He had things to do, and if he really needed to breathe, he didn't want to have to go back to Earth for air.

He landed in an anonymous crater – anonymous to him, at any rate. He was sure that the crater had a name in some Moon atlas somewhere. Clark made sure he was standing in the sunlight. He had a feeling he would need all the charging up he could get.

He reached into his front pocket and took out the Element of Fire. He set it down on the regolith, a pace away. Then he focused his will, and his heat vision.

The element stubbornly resisted Clark's assault. It defied the heat vision, remaining untouched at levels Clark knew would have melted iron. He cycled up the intensity, and felt the drain on his energy. He had a sudden flashback of a curious Bernie Klein asking him questions – Bernie would have loved to have measured the differing intensities of the heat vision.

_"How do you do it?" Bernie had asked. "I don't know," Clark had answered honestly. "I just want to, and it happens." _Well, he _wanted _to do what the other Jor-El had told him to do with the crystalline elements, but it was harder to do and it was taking longer than he thought.

Clark increased the power. He wondered if he were up to nuclear blast levels yet. He'd never before used such a powerful and sustained effort of heat vision. He felt himself growing weak, despite the simultaneous charging up as he stood in unfiltered sunlight.

Finally – _finally_ – the element wavered. Clark kept on heating it. He'd have one chance. The Element's edges lost their sharpness. Clark kept on pushing. The symbol on the Element began to glow.

With a sudden burst of light, the Element melted. It dissolved. Clark immediately cut off the heat vision. A tiny pool of – what was it? Metal? Or crystal? Or both? – floated above the Moon's surface. Clark saw a thin layer of red on the top of the melt. The human blood, bonded to the Element, had defied his heat vision until the last.

With the same suddenness it had used in melting, the Element re-formed. A fresh Element of Fire, with sharp edges and crisp symbol, fell into Clark's waiting hand.

The layer of blood vaporized in the vacuum. Clark spared a bit of breath to scatter the dried flakes over the Moonscape. He had purified the element.

Clark sat down quickly, before he fell down. That had taken more from him than he'd expected. After a moment, he decided that he had better return to Earth after all – he wanted to take a deep breath.

He floated in Earth's upper atmosphere for ten minutes, soaking in the sunlight. He would need every bit of energy he had to deal with the other two elements.

Clark returned to the Moon – picking a different crater on Farside – and repeated the procedure with the Element of Water. It took just as much effort as he'd feared. This time, after purifying the Element, Clark zipped home to the farmhouse. He bolted three sandwiches before going outside to soak up more sun.

The final task was the purifying of the Element of Air. It went smoothly, although Clark feared at the last that he wouldn't have enough reserve. But he persevered through the weakness and the headaches and the thought that he had nothing more to give. He heated the Element to the point where it was forced to melt and re-form itself, driving out foreign influences during the process. All traces of Genevieve Teague's blood were gone. The Elements were purified.

Clark tucked the cleansed Elements back in their lead bags. They didn't tremble this time. Their 'compulsion' to scatter to the ends of the Earth was removed. Now, they were returned to their pre-Fortress state. Now they _wanted_ to be found by Kal-El.

He departed the Moon and spent fifteen minutes hovering in Earth's outer atmosphere, feeling the sunlight revive him. His weariness dropped away.

_Time to get moving, Clark, _he told himself. He had things to do.

He made his way to the Arctic, to the site where the Fortress had been. Clark debated re-instantiating it in a different place, but decided against it. The Moon was out – just too far. If the Fortress was going to stay on Earth, he wanted it on the same continent as his home in Kansas. And since most of North America was pretty well filled up, he needed somewhere that didn't see a lot of casual visitors, and that was, as the geologists said, "difficult of access". Yes, "difficult of access" to everyone but him. Hence, here he was, back above the Arctic Circle.

Clark unwrapped the Elements. He let them merge, this time prepared for the bright light of their union. The crystal in the shape of his house symbol floated in mid-air. For the third time in his life, Clark grabbed it. For the second time in his life, he threw it. And, again for the third time in his life, he watched as the Fortress built itself up from nothing. It awed him every time.

He flew to the entrance and stepped inside. He quickly dealt with this instantiation of Jor-El, deflecting the AI's pre-programmed imperative that Clark take his training. He set the intruder control on "Detain and Notify Me" instead of "Kill". He arranged for cloud cover to foil satellite reconnaissance. He had the AI make some things for him. And then he flew back to Kansas and fell into bed.


	48. Chapter 48

Clark woke and noticed that he'd slept the day away. He had returned from the other world, gone to Krypton and defeated Brainiac. He'd slept two days after that. Then he'd cleansed and re-instantiated his Fortress. All that work was really taking it out of him. Twilight colors filled the sky. Knuckling the sleep out of his eyes, he staggered down the hall to the bathroom.

His phone rang. He zipped downstairs to get it and checked the caller. Clark trembled with emotion as he said the words he hadn't said in a year.

"Hi, Mom." It felt wonderful to say that. It felt wonderful to be in a universe where he had his mother again.

"How are you, honey? I haven't heard from you in the past few days."

Clark almost cried at "honey". He'd been in a world where everyone hated him. And now his mother casually called him "honey". It had embarrassed him as a teenager. Now he took the moment and carefully tucked it away in his memory.

"Clark? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Mom." _I'm here. I'm home. I'm back with you. _Clark wanted to see his mother, hug her, touch her, make sure she was real, make sure he was really home. He had missed her so much.

"I asked what you were doing the past few days."

_More like the past year._ "Well, I've been kind of busy… are you doing OK, Mom?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Clark." His mother left the conversation dangling, part of her subtle technique for getting Clark to open up.

"I sure wish I could have dinner with you tonight." Clark said the code phrase. They never said anything that overtly referred to his abilities when talking on the phone.

His mother was silent just for a moment. Then, "I wish you could, too. For once, I don't have some fundraiser to go to this evening. It would be nice if I could see you."

OK. There was a not-too-subtle hint. "I've got to do the chores now," Clark said. That would let his mother know that he couldn't come right away.

"OK, Clark. Please _call _me later on." From the slight emphasis on "call", both of them knew that Clark would go to see his mother as soon as possible. "Good-bye, honey."

"Good-bye, Mom." He watched the call disconnect and headed outdoors. He _did _have to do the chores. Fortunately, with the application of super-speed, they were done in about five minutes. Clark took a quick shower, and put on a dress shirt and trousers. Smiling broadly, he put on the speed and went to Washington, DC.

As usual, he sped past the doorman and the surveillance cameras at his mother's apartment building. His mother was a Senator, a public figure. They'd had a talk about that when she moved to Washington. Martha was in the public eye now. She would be watched much more closely than she was when she was Martha Kent, farm wife. But Clark's secret still had to be kept.

So they took precautions. Unless Clark openly took an airplane to the District of Columbia, he would conceal his presence there. They used circumlocutions on the telephone. Clark scouted out his approach with his special vision before he moved. He visited his mother in Washington only when she had no company, unless, of course, he'd come there "legitimately".

The doorman grabbed at his hat as a sudden breeze whisked it off his head. Clark paid no attention – by the time the hat was corralled, Clark stood at his mother's apartment door. Fortunately, there were no surveillance cameras in the hallways.

His mother opened her door. Clark noticed that she'd changed out of her business suit (sober wear appropriate for a U.S. Senator) and into some casual – and comfortable – clothing. She smiled with genuine pleasure and ushered him in. Once they were safely in her apartment, she hugged him. "Clark."

He had a sudden flash of cognitive dissonance. For a year, when he'd seen this woman, it had been Martha – not his mother. And that Martha had never managed to rid herself of the unconscious flinch that happened whenever he came into her presence. She'd gotten much better about it as their friendship grew, but she always subtly backed away. She certainly never greeted him with a hug.

So Clark expected the tiny flinch, the closed body language. His mother's open-armed embrace actually startled him for a minute before he realized where he was and hugged her back.

"Hey, Mom." Clark's throat closed. He could barely choke out the words. Tears came to his eyes. He was home. He was back on his own world. He hugged his mother and held her tightly.

"Clark, what is it?" His mother knew something was off. Clark thought of the other world's Martha. She was an expert at detecting his moods too, but before they had gotten to know each other really well, she tiptoed carefully around him and often distrusted where his moods might take him. This Martha, his mother, accepted him wholeheartedly. Clark realized what a precious gift that was.

Clark swallowed. He let go. "Nothing, really, Mom." He gave her a wobbly smile. "Did I tell you how glad I am to see you?"

"Oh, honey, I'm always glad to see you too," she said sheepishly. "I forgot to tell you that we'll have to get carryout. I eat out so much here – I have to go to so many political lunches and dinners – that it's not worthwhile buying groceries. The food goes bad before I can use it up."

"I wanted a home-cooked meal," Clark teased his mother. Then an idea struck him. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Mom, will you come to Smallville with me right now? Make that dinner?" The fact that he _could _ask her was exhilarating. On the other world, he had tried never to ask for anything, worried that his polite requests would be taken as demands. After all, look what Zod had done to any Earthling who dared say "No" to him. Politically savvy, the alternate world's Lex had set up a system early on to fulfill Clark's modest needs. Clark got the rations and accommodations that any human at Metroplis base would get. And Clark tried not to ask for anything more. Because he would get what he asked for. Because people were too scared of him to tell him "No."

Now he could ask, ask like a regular person asking a favor of another regular person. And his mother could say "No" if she wanted to. And he wouldn't have to worry that she would be afraid for her life because she had refused the Kryptonian.

But she probably wouldn't say "No". She was his mother, and she loved him. "There's so much I have to talk with you about," Clark added. "It would be nice to talk with you over dinner."

His mother looked at him sharply. It always mystified Clark how his mother was able to discern his moods, knew what was important and what wasn't. Was it some sort of Mom radar? Or a secret psychic power? Apparently she decided this was important.

"You'll take me back tonight? I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow." No protest, just notifying Clark that she couldn't stay in Smallville overnight.

"Whenever you want to go, Mom. Just say the word."

"OK, then." His mother looked around at the bland beige-and-white sterility of the apartment. She was only marking time here, Clark knew. Her true home was in Smallville, in the comfortably cluttered Kent farmhouse with its family pictures and homemade quilts, its buildup of a lifetime spent making the house a home.

They exited the apartment, his mother carefully locking the door behind her. She turned to the elevator. Clark forestalled her.

"Do you have roof access?"

His mother blinked. "Well, yes. It's through that stairwell. There's a key to the roof door… I have it here. Why, Clark?"

He moved them along the hall, through the door, and up one flight. "I think you'll be surprised, Mom. I've developed a new ability."

His mother looked dubious. "Clark, I know, uh… are you sure? You know when you got your other abilities… well, you had to practice." She unlocked the door and they stepped out onto the roof. There was no moon tonight, and the lights of Washington all around them fuzzed the horizon with a lambent haze. The Capitol Building, its white marble illuminated, glowed in the near distance. Farther on was the spire of the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial standing proudly by the Potomac River.

Clark laughed. "I have this one under control, Mom." He made the mental adjustment, the shift between universes, to dress himself in the Suit.

"So, you can change your clothing really fast?" his mother asked dubiously. "You could do that before." She raised an eyebrow. "And Clark, what is that… that _outfit _you're wearing?" She stared at him. Clark wondered if she would comment on the fact that he was wearing his underwear outside his pants. Normally, Martha Kent would never dream of pointing out a person's sartorial deficiencies, but he was her son, after all, and there were those who would believe that she was responsible for his lamentable fashion choices.

Clark grinned. "I promise I'll answer all your questions, Mom, but can I just show you?"

That was the good thing about his mother, he decided. She went along with his crazy ideas. She trusted him. "OK, honey." Although her tone promised him a tongue-lashing if he didn't deliver on the answers.

Clark moved over to her and scooped her up. The action wasn't totally unfamiliar to his mother; he'd run her back and forth from Kansas to Washington a few times. Her small body nestled into his in a very familiar manner – he'd held Martha Clark like this, so many times. He walked them over to the edge of the roof.

His mother stared down at the thirty-story drop. "Clark, you're not going to jump, are you? You know I have motion sickness."

"No, Mom, I'm not going to jump," he said quietly. "I'm going to fly." And with that, he lifted off.

His mother stiffened in his grasp. "Clark?" she asked cautiously. "Are you Clark?"

"Yeah, Mom. Right here." Clark was perplexed. "What?"

"The last time you flew, you were Kal-El."

No wonder his mother was worried. Clark barely remembered that part of his life - his human side suppressed, Jor-El reprogramming him into the emotionless Kryptonian Kal-El. That person had knocked over Martha Kent when he flew off to obtain one of the crystalline Fortress elements. No wonder she feared Kal-El's return.

"No, Mom, it's really me. I learned how to fly." He met her eyes and smiled. Inwardly, he cursed that his Kryptonian side had ever frightened his mother. He had never wanted to do that, and after dealing with the other Martha for so long, he knew he couldn't bear it if his mother began to fear him.

His mother took a deep breath, and the tension left her body. "Your father and I always knew that you would fly someday."

_After the Kal-El episode, _Clark filled in mentally.

His mother looked down. The lights of Washington and its vast environs were rapidly diminishing in the distance. The smaller towns tucked into the mountains of Virginia weren't so bright, but each light told its tale of human habitation. "This is amazing."

"It is." Clark loved his mother at that moment. No fear, just acceptance of yet another one of her son's inhuman abilities. "I've been flying for months now, and I still haven't gotten over the thrill."

"Months?" His mother pounced on that apparent inconsistency like the lawyer she was. "You've been able to fly for months?"

Clark adjusted his grip slightly, moving his mother around a bit to a position he knew she would find more comfortable. "Well, that's kind of a long story…"

* * *

They sat together at the kitchen table in the Kent Farm. Clark continued telling his mother of his adventures in the other world. She moved around the kitchen as he talked, gathering ingredients for the requested home-cooked meal.

She put him to work chopping and peeling vegetables. Clark worked at regular human speed, enjoying the task. When he talked about how the Kryptonian invaders had destroyed the Earth's ecology and population, he bent his head down, focusing on his work, ashamed to be one of that race. He hoped that his mother would never see the world devastated as he had. Clark made a silent vow that he would devote all his abilities to make sure that his Earth never suffered the fate of its alternate.

"Lois captured you?" his mother asked. She seemed to find that hard to believe. She turned on the stove and sat down at the table, wordlessly questioning Clark.

"Lois had kryptonite, Mom, and she wasn't afraid to use it." Clark smiled ruefully in memory. "Fortunately, once we got over that, um, little misunderstanding, things worked out, um, OK."

"OK?" Martha Kent knew when her boy was embroidering a point.

"Well, mostly OK." Clark trailed off. His mother let the silence grow. "What threw me the most, Mom, was that I knew everybody… and I didn't. They were the counterparts, the people that might have been. Lex… Chloe… A.C…."

"And me?" his mother asked gently.

"You." Clark met her eyes. "The first time I met Martha… the first real time, I mean, she was so scared of me." He well remembered advancing toward Martha Clark and her awful, paralyzing fear. His voice lowered as he asked his mother, "Mom, were you ever afraid of me?"

That was his nightmare, now – that the ones he was closest to would not accept him. He'd never known what a luxury that was until he'd been dumped in a world where he didn't have that solid backing of love and friendship.

His mother sighed. "Once."

Clark didn't know what to ask. Once? When? Only once? Why not more? He was strange and alien, he knew that.

"It was the time you were Kal-El," his mother clarified. "So really, Clark, I was never afraid of _you._ I know that you will always use your abilities the way your father and I taught you. But Kal-El… I didn't know him."

"But you came back and fought Kal-El." Clark knew, in his gut, what a risk his mother had faced. After seeing what uncaring Kryptonians did to humans who annoyed them, he felt faint in retrospect. He realized the danger Martha Kent had been in. She had confronted the alien Kal-El with black kryptonite, allowing Clark's human side to break free of Jor-El's re-programming. "You saved me."

"I had to. Clark, you're my son. That's what parents do." His mother's voice shook just a little. She reached over and took his hand, her smaller fingers warm in his. "But otherwise, no, I was never afraid of you. I knew you'd always do the right thing."

"I'm trying, Mom. I'm trying," Clark said roughly.

His mother let go of his hand and smiled impishly. "Even with all your strange abilities. Your father and I had so many talks about that… I think your father was a little worried when you got your heat vision," she teased. "Brought on by thoughts of sex? A teenage boy? Of course, I was never a teenage boy, but your father… he said we were lucky the house didn't burn down."

_"Mom,_" Clark said, blushing. The other Martha, when she'd gotten his memories, had seen those hugely embarrassing moments – learning to control the heat vision started by _triggering _the heat vision – but he devoutly hoped that his mother would never, _never _know the details.

She took pity on him and changed the subject. "What about me, in this other world?"

"Well, you lived. A lot of people didn't. Mom, I never knew how strong you were."

His mother only shrugged. "You do what you have to do."

"Anyway, we went on a mission for Lex. It went bad, they had kryptonite. I was out of it. Martha – "

"Is that what you call her?"

"Well, I couldn't call her _Mom,_" Clark pointed out. "Anyway, Martha knocked out the guy who had the kryptonite, we escaped, and, um, that's when I first flew." He didn't want to get into all the gory details. He hardly wanted to remember the details himself. "I started practicing after that, and well, here we are."

His mother gave him a sharp look. She knew very well he was leaving out important bits. "So what else happened with the other me?"

"Um… a lot." Clark's phone rang and he pulled it out. "It's Chloe."

"Hi, Clark!"

"Hi."

"Clark, it's late and I really don't feel like driving back home right now. Do you think you could pick me up?" Chloe sounded perky, and confident that he would do as she asked. Of course he would. "I'm at the usual place."

"Just a minute." His mother was gesturing at him.

"What?"

"Invite Chloe to dinner," Martha Kent said.

"OK. Chloe, can you stay for dinner?" Clark didn't want to mention his mother's presence on the phone. He'd tell Chloe in person.

"Sure."

"Great! I'll see you, um, as soon as I can." Clark terminated the call and stood up. "I won't take long."

"Give me a little time, and I'll make a pie," his mother said calmly.

Wow. His mother, Chloe, and pie. Three ingredients of a successful dinner. "Great!"

He considerately waited till he was outdoors to put on the super-speed. Clark changed into the Suit and shot up into the night sky. He luxuriated in the awesome freedom of flying.

He dawdled a little, just because it was so much fun to fly. But Chloe (and pie) were waiting, so he made sure he was unwitnessed and touched down in Metropolis three minutes after he left Smallville.

Chloe waited for him in the deserted alleyway. She turned toward him, seeing his form. "Thanks for coming, Clark." Then, as he advanced, she caught a glimpse of the Suit. She raised an eyebrow. "Clark. Is your tailor mad at you?"

"Ha ha."

She circled him, tsking at the farm boots. Clark had to admit that Oliver had been right – he really needed red boots to match the red cape. Her chuckle alerted him, and Clark whirled around just in time to keep her from lifting the cape. What was it with all the women checking out his butt? "Hey!"

"Clark, I am assuming that this glaring example of sartorial… splendor… actually has a purpose." Chloe stood with her hands on her hips, running her eyes up and down his body.

Clark quelled a sudden urge to clasp his hands in front of his briefs.

"Have you been attacked by, uh, pink kryptonite or something?" Chloe persisted.

"Pink kryptonite?" Clark asked, baffled. He'd never heard of _that._ Did Chloe know something he didn't?

"It causes you to dress up in skin-tight spandex, briefs outside your pants, fairly homoerotic attire?" Chloe zinged.

"Homoero – " Clark repeated, then he got it. He blushed. "No! Chloe, this actually has a purpose."

"What? Allows you to work in the circus?"

"Could you please can the snark long enough to let me explain?"

"Discontinuing the snark for even five minutes is difficult, but for you I'll do it." Chloe smiled impishly. "Explain."

"It's easier to show you." Clark stepped forward. What a relief it was that she didn't cower back. Everybody in the other world had. But Chloe actually approached him so he could pick her up. He swung her into a comfortable position, and met her eyes. "I wear this outfit when I go flying." He lifted off.

"Fly – " Chloe squeaked.

He rose to cruising altitude.

"Clark!" she squealed. "You never told me you could fly!" She squirmed in his grasp, and got one arm free so she could punch him on the chest. She looked down at the rapidly retreating lights of Metropolis. "Omigod. Omigod. We're flying."

"Are you OK, Chloe?" Clark asked. He really should have given her more warning, he knew. But he had to admit that he had wanted to see her react. He grinned. It was rare that he could rouse Chloe to babble and then an awed silence, but he'd managed to do it right now. Of course, it would be tough to top this moment.

"This is so amazing," she muttered, ignoring his question.

Clark shrugged and landed them at the farmhouse. He set Chloe down, and by the time she'd turned back to him, he had changed back into his regular clothing.

"Wow! How'd you do that?" Chloe knew that he had super-speed, of course, but he had never used it to change clothes in front of her.

"Parlor trick. Come in." Clark held the door open for her.

His mother rose to greet them. "Chloe. It's good to see you." Her smile brightened the room. Clark had missed that smile. The other Martha had lost it somewhere along the way.

"Mrs. Kent! Clark didn't mention you were here." Chloe cast a pointed gaze at Clark. "I'm guessing that Clark showed you his new talent, too?"

"Yes." The two women's eyes met, and Clark saw the wonder in both faces. Suddenly he was embarrassed.

"Uh, Mom? Do you need any help with the apples, or something?" In the short time he had been gone, his mother had managed to mix the ingredients and roll out pastry for a piecrust.

His mother smiled, and Clark saw that he wasn't fooling her any. "Yes, Clark, if you wouldn't mind peeling and chopping the apples?"

"Sure." He slipped into super-speed, and presented his mother with a bowl of peeled apple slices a few seconds later. His mother accepted them without comment and dumped them into the pie pan. She poured in sugar and cinnamon. Then she rolled out a top crust of pastry, folded it in half, slashed it four times, placed it on top of the apples, unfolded it, and crimped the edges. She slipped the pie into the oven.

By this time, Chloe had finished putting down her document case and freshening up. She came back into the kitchen. She pulled up a chair and sat down at the kitchen table, across from Clark. While Martha cleaned up the rolling pin and other dishes, Chloe pinned Clark with a gaze. "All right, Clark, out with it. I want the whole story."

Clark remembered that he'd returned to this world and had met Chloe in the Fortress of Solitude. From there, they'd gone to Krypton and defeated Brainiac, and had gotten back to Earth – Smallville, actually – via portal. From Krypton, they'd gone back to the Kent Farm, and Clark had fallen asleep for two days. Chloe had had to go to work. There had been no time for them to talk. No wonder Chloe had been so eager for him to wake up.

He smiled at Chloe and began once again: "Well, it all started when I was moping around…"

* * *

"No! The other Martha picked the colors?" Chloe stifled a giggle behind her fist. They'd had a home-cooked dinner (Clark almost wept with the depth of his feeling over the best meal he'd had in more than a year) and were waiting for the pie to finish baking. Clark had told them about Zod, and Aethyr, and Lex, and their counterparts.

"It wasn't just her. Lois and Oliver had something to do with it, too," Clark said.

"It's very… bright," his mother said about the Suit, in the same tone of voice she'd used to categorize the twenty-one-year old girl with three children out of wedlock by describing her as "She wears a little too much makeup."

"I know, Mom. It's just… just… I'm tired of hiding what I can do. I'm not going to skulk around anymore. I'm going to…"

"Come out of the closet?" Chloe suggested brightly.

Clark shot her an annoyed look. The "homoerotic attire" comment still rankled. "I need to wear something tight."

"That's tight, all right," Chloe muttered.

"Why?" his mother asked at the same time.

"If my clothes are loose and I fly too fast, they burn up from air friction," Clark explained, ignoring Chloe's sotto voce comment.

Chloe sat up straight. "Hey, wait a minute! You flew _me _here pretty fast!" It hadn't taken her long to make the connection.

"Chloe! I would never let you be hurt. Or Mom," he added, glancing toward his mother. "You're safe because of my aura." Then there was a whole long interlude where he demonstrated his aura and how it protected anything touching him and how he could extend it to anyone he carried or touched. Chloe was enthralled, and insisted on trying to stab herself with his mother's kitchen knife five or six times before Clark called a halt to the aura experiments.

Clark had to smile. She was just so… Chloe. And she was so different from Chloe in the alternate world. Unlike that Chloe, his world's version didn't worry at all about him. She trusted him.

"I won't give up flying. I just can't. And I'm not going to fly just in the dark." Clark's tone was uncompromising.

"But, Clark, if you're going public, what about…" his mother asked.

"Yeah, what about us?" Chloe finished. "Are you going to wear a mask or something? It's not like everyone in Smallville doesn't know who you are. And everyone in the basement at the _Daily Planet_ knows your face, too, and the people in your classes at Central Kansas, and…"

Clark smiled. "Mom – it was you, I mean the other Martha, who came up with an idea. She said, "There's Clark Kent and there's Kal-El and they're two different people."

"A secret identity?" Chloe considered it. "I think it'll need a little work."

"That's why I got some help from Jor-El at the Fortress," Clark replied. "Here." He made the mental adjustment and reached into the pocket universe where he kept the Suit.

"Glasses? You think people won't see that Kal-El and Clark Kent are the same person because you're wearing a pair of, um, _incredibly dorky_ glasses?" Chloe snarked.

"Ah, disbelieving one, these glasses have Kryptonian technology behind them." With a flourish, Clark put them on.

Chloe and his mother looked at him, looked at each other, and then looked back at him. "No difference."

Clark took off the glasses. "Well, you know me," he said, a little deflated. What if this really didn't work? He was so screwed if that was the case. "But Jor-El assures me that when I wear these glasses, I'll, um, exude an air of um, nerdiness that makes it impossible for anyone to realize that I'm, um, him."

"Ohhh-kay." Chloe dragged out the word. "Maybe you should take some acting classes too." Clark didn't have to be a genius to see that she had her doubts.

"Clark, you've been to see Jor-El?" his mother asked urgently and a little nervously.

Of course. His mother only knew of the old Jor-El, the version in the corrupted Fortress, the Jor-El who'd manipulated and used him and others in its attempt to get Clark to rule the world. No wonder she was nervous.

"Yes. And I have to tell you about that, too…" Clark embarked on another long explanation. In the middle, the oven timer dinged and his mother took out the pie. He finished telling them about the re-instantiation of the Fortress over hot apple pie and vanilla ice cream. He thought that made the story go over better.

"So, if I go there again, I won't get frozen?" Chloe asked skeptically.

"You'll be fine. Although I should take you up there and introduce you, and make sure you have full visitor privileges," Clark assured her. "And you too, Mom."

"I'll think about it." His mother clearly wasn't convinced. "Clark, it's getting late. I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow."

"You want to go back now, Mom?" Clark stood up.

"I'll wait for you here, Clark," Chloe said, getting up and bustling to do the dishes. "I still have a lot of questions for you."

"I bet you do," Clark muttered.

"What was that?" Chloe asked him.

"Uh, nothing."

"Clark, I'm ready to go now," his mother said, obviously enjoying the byplay. "And this time I want you to fly a little slower so I can see more."

"Sure, Mom."

* * *

They flew through the quiet night. His mother broke the silence. "Clark, you didn't say much about it, but from what you did say, I guess you saved this other world?"

"I hope so, Mom." He flew a bit more in silence, then added, "It wasn't just me. First there was everybody who brought down the rogue Kryptonians… They were… Mom, I _won't_ be like that. I _won't._"

"Of course you wouldn't, honey," his mother reassured him. "Your father and I would be very disappointed in you if you were."

Clark held her just a little tighter. After his time in the other world, her trust awed him. It was a precious gift. He only hoped he could always live up to it.

"But if you're going to fly, I assume you're going to go public with your other abilities?" His mother sounded very unconcerned for someone whose life would quickly become a paparazzi-fueled nightmare if anyone figured out that Kal-El was the adopted son of U.S. Senator Martha Kent.

"Yeah. I got used to it in the other world. I used my abilities all the time. I can't see something that needs doing, or someone who needs help, and just walk away."

"I'm proud of you for that, Clark."

His throat tightened at the confidence his mother had in him, and tears came to his eyes. "I'll do my best, Mom."

"Oh, Clark, your best is all we can ask. And look what you did for this alternate world you told me about."

"It wasn't just me, Mom. Martha – you know, the other you – she did so much. I couldn't have done it without her. At the end, there, we could only restore the Earth because she was human."

"That's what you said," his mother murmured. Clark had given her and Chloe a précis of the final events in the other Fortress. But he'd left out all the private things he'd found out about the other Martha, everything about Brainiac and Zod and what they'd done to her. His mother, no dummy, knew there were things he wasn't telling her, but she didn't press. "Clark, honey," she added in questioningly, "I know, before, you were worried about not being human." Her tone probed delicately, urging him to confide in her.

"When you first told me where I came from, Mom, it was a big shock," Clark said frankly. "It took me years to accept that, and I don't think I really did until I got put into this other world." He smiled ruefully. "There, everybody knew I wasn't human. They rubbed it into my face. After what Zod and the others did, Kryptonians weren't very popular."

"Oh, honey," his mother said again, more in response to his tone than his words.

"I understand now. I've come to accept it. I'm _not_ human. I'm Kryptonian. But along with that is the fact that I can do things no one else can do. They needed me, and I got used to helping. And Mom," Clark said earnestly, "I'm going to keep on doing those things." He grinned. "Except in this world I'd prefer a little more privacy. Kal-El will be the public face. Clark Kent will be anonymous. But Kal-El is going to help."

"I'm proud of you, Clark." His mother moved restlessly in his arms. "But there's so much heartache and trouble in the world – "

"I know I can't do everything, Mom, but what I can do, I will do."

"That's good, Clark, but what I was going to say is that you'll be busy. Don't let your friends and family go. There's so much that needs doing in the world, it's more than even you can do. I know you, you'll try to do too much."

"Thank you, Mom," Clark said, touched by her concern.

"Clark, I just want for you to be happy. It's what every parent wants for their child. I know you're going to save the world – " she chuckled. "In fact, you just did save a world. But don't forget about yourself, either."

"I won't." He landed them on the roof of her apartment. She found her keys with a minimum of fumbling and opened the roof door while Clark changed his clothes. He escorted his mother back to her apartment and made sure she was safely settled.

She hugged him. "Let me know when Kal-El is going to go public. If I can lay the groundwork, I think I can shape the U.S. government response. Just give me a few days, Clark."

"I'll try, Mom, but if something comes up… well, I'm not going to let people die if I can stop it."

"Of course not. But if I have a few days… never mind. Don't worry about this end." His mother hugged him again.

"Thanks, Mom. Love you." They hugged a final time and he let himself out.

Clark flew back to Smallville unencumbered by a passenger, and so he put on the speed. He congratulated himself for remembering to ask Jor-El for Kryptonian stealth technology so that he couldn't be tracked by radar or satellite. But, he reminded himself, he still could be seen by the naked eyeball. So, until Kal-El went public, he'd better be discreet.

By the time he got back to the farmhouse, Chloe had finished the dishes.

"Thanks."

She shrugged. "It was the least I could do." She speared him with a gaze and led him back to the table. "Sit."

He sat.

"I notice you didn't say much about my counterpart."

Clark groaned inside. Of course he hadn't, and of course Chloe had picked up on that. He noticed her determined expression and decided he had no hope of evasion.

"I didn't really want to tell you, Chloe, but if you want to know, I will." Who was he kidding? Of course Chloe wanted to know. Wanting to know was a basic part of her character.

"I want to know."

Clark led with the big one. "In the other world, you were married to Lex Luthor."

She sat, shocked into silence for a moment, and then wrinkled her nose. "Eeewww." After a minute, she added, "He investigated you under the guise of friendship. He fired me from the _Daily Planet._ He's taken meteor mutants and imprisoned them, and run unethical experiments on them. How could I marry someone like that?"

Clark remained silent, not wanting to defend the other Lex.

After a minute of waiting for Clark to respond, Chloe ventured, "He wasn't so bad a few years ago, when you and he first met."

"He wasn't, really," Clark agreed, saddened at the loss of the Lex he might have called his friend.

"It's just, just over the years, I think he's become more and more like Lionel. More and more ruthless, more and more of a user."

"I wonder if Lionel really changed in _his_ last years."

"Well, he's dead now," Chloe said practically. "Clark, you told me that Lionel was Jor-El's oracle."

"Yes. But that was with the old Fortress, the crazy one. I don't know what might have happened to him if he'd been alive when I re-instantiated the Fortress, you know, when I did a clean re-boot."

"Good point," Chloe said, a considering look in her eyes. "But what I was wondering about was how much surveillance Jor-El kept on Lionel."

"I don't know. I thought, as much as I ever thought about it, that Lionel was a part of Jor-El, or Jor-El was a part of Lionel, so what one knew, the other knew." Clark really hadn't thought about it. He hadn't wanted to think about it. He disliked and distrusted Lionel, for one, and then, he'd been manipulated by the Fortress himself. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Lionel's dead, Clark, and I want to know how it happened."

"He fell out of a window."

"Yeah. Forty stories straight down out of the Luthorcorp offices to the pavement. But _why_?"

"You don't think it was suicide, do you?" Clark said slowly. "Or an accident."

"I think Lex killed Lionel," Chloe said bluntly. "I don't have any proof. But I have my suspicions. That's why, if Jor-El knew anything, maybe we could get some evidence. Forcible defenestration isn't really Lex's style, but maybe the opportunity came and Lex just took it. I think Lex is dangerous."

"I _know_ Lex is dangerous," Clark replied. "The other Lex admitted to arranging the deaths of some of his allies. And he threw Martha under the bus, uh, not literally, but he sent her on a mission where he knew she'd come in harm's way. And to show how dangerous he is, he and his group managed to bring down three Kryptonians – well, two Kryptonians and Brainiac."

"Tell me again why the other me married him."

"Because I was never there."

"Gee, someone's sure full of himself tonight."

"Hey, Chloe, I know why the other Lex married the other you. I'm just giving you my best reasons why the other you married _him_."

"Why did the other Lex want to marry me?" she asked curiously.

"Who wouldn't want to marry you?" Clark stared at her, astounded that she didn't see. "You're smart, and loyal, and a good friend, and – "

"All right, all right." Chloe blushed. "Let's go with why the other me married the other Lex."

"In that world you never got to know me, because I never made it off Krypton. You came to Smallville as a teenager. Without me there to engage your curiosity – " Clark winked at her. "You became friends with Lex, and when the bad aliens landed, you two worked together to try and obtain the Fortress crystals before Zod and Brainiac did. Common interest. If you'd have succeeded, you would have kept Brainiac from controlling that Fortress."

"Obviously, we failed," Chloe said in her sarcastic way.

"Unfortunately, yes," Clark replied. "But you kept on fighting, even after everything else."

"Everything else being the destruction of civilization and the loss of 99% of the world's population?" she asked. Obviously, Chloe had read between the lines of what Clark had tried to obscure.

"Well, yes. But you went on, and you used your meteor power to heal, and - "

"Wait wait wait. My meteor power?" Chloe asked nervously. "The other me used it?"

"All the time," Clark assured her. "And you're not going to go crazy or bad. The other Chloe has been using her ability for over twenty years with no trouble."

Chloe looked down and shuddered. If Clark hadn't had his increased sensitivity, he would have missed the tears that welled up in her eyes. "Really?"

"Really," he reassured her. "You're infected by the meteor rocks, but you're going to be fine." He thought back to the day that she'd confided in him about her meteor power, and her paralyzing fear that she would end up like her mother, catatonic in a mental institution. Or worse, she would become a violent meteor freak, only wishing to harm others.

"You're not just saying this?"

Clark would have been offended if he hadn't known the depths of her fear. "No. I wouldn't lie to you about this, Chloe. You will use your abilities for good." He decided not to mention to her that the first beneficiary of her healing would be herself, and that she might possibly be immortal. That might be overwhelming right now.

"OK, then." She dabbed at her eyes and dared him to mention anything. "So I was married to Lex?" It was as though she had to have Clark say it over and over, the thought was just so shocking and overwhelming.

"Plus, you were on the Metropolis Council, and you helped take down Zod, and you killed Aethyr, and you traveled with me for three months when I first came to that world. Well, the other you."

"Traveled with you?"

"Yeah, um, going around and letting people know that Zod was done, you know." At Chloe's stare Clark added awkwardly, "Well, I was the bodyguard and the transportation and you were doing all the talking."

"That sounds about right," she muttered. "Together?"

"It was terrible," Clark admitted. "Here we were, sharing a two-man tent every night, and you were married to Lex."

"Did you put the moves on me?"

Clark looked at her warily. Was she serious? Or was she just kidding him? Couldn't she see that he was attracted to her?

"The other you made it very clear that she wasn't interested, right from the start."

"So then what happened?"

Clark took a deep breath. "I spent a year regretting the fact that I never saw you for the person you really are. I swore that, if I ever got home, I'd tell you how much you mean to me."

Chloe looked away. There was a long silence. He'd caught her by surprise. After a minute she plastered a false smile on her face. "What about Lana?"

Of course she would ask that, thought Clark. He deserved it. For all these years he'd been obsessed with Lana, ignoring the true friend who stood at his side in favor of the beckoning siren who always promised and never gave.

"I found out quite a bit about Lana," Clark began. "The Lana in the other world – well, she married Jason Teague, and joined the Teague family. They were a prominent family of Kryptonian collaborators."

Chloe grimaced.

"Yep. They were responsible for betraying people, sending them into Zod's and Brainiac's clutches. But that didn't matter because they were safe themselves." Clark wondered if Chloe could sense how much bitterness his voice contained. "Lex told me that she'd inveigled them into trusting her, once. Lex led a mission to take out Brainiac. Lana betrayed them, and Lex lost everyone he took. He was tortured himself before Chloe led a suicide mission to save him." Clark remembered what Martha had said. _"Chloe died, once, but it didn't take, for her." _ Better not to mention that to his Chloe, not right now.

"The other Lana was killed when she tried to offer herself to Zod for additional, uh, perks. It seems like the weather was getting pretty cold by then – I told you that the Fortress changed Earth's climate, right? Anyway, Lana made the mistake of flaunting herself in front of Aethyr. Aethyr killed her."

"Um…" Chloe didn't know what to say.

"So I did a lot of thinking about Lana when I was stuck in that other world," Clark said earnestly. "If the other Lana was so eager to collaborate, what would our Lana do? I'd been ignoring it, but when I was forced to face it…"

"What?" Chloe asked, staring intently.

"She married Lex. That's fine, I failed her on the boyfriend front. I was never able to tell her about me like I told you," Clark began. "But then she framed him to make it look like he murdered her. She embezzled ten million dollars from him. She set up ISIS, a foundation to study the meteor mutants – supposedly. But you pointed out that she was passing on the information to Lex and to others. I don't know why I didn't see it before. I don't know why I didn't take her to the police before." Clark _didn't_ know. Why had he let Lana lead him so far from the right path?

"Love is blind," Chloe said, offering an excuse.

"I was blind. I was stupid. You tried to tell me but I didn't listen." Clark took Chloe's hand. "I'm sorry for that."

"Clark Kent apologizing?" Chloe asked, mock-seriously.

"Hey, I'm a lunkhead," Clark replied in the same tone. He didn't let go of her hand and she didn't move to take it away. "I should really report her to the police."

"She vanished, Clark, you know that."

Clark nodded. Chloe had told him. Lana had woken from her coma at the same time that Clark, Kara, and Chloe had defeated Brainiac, back on Krypton. How that could happen, when they'd gone back into the past to do so, was beyond Clark's comprehension. However it had happened, though, it had happened. He assumed that Lana was free of Brainiac.

_Although I should really make sure,_ Clark thought. _Look at me and Martha. We got infected and it took a lot to get Brainiac out._

Lana had recorded a video farewell to Clark, and then had skipped town. She had the remains of the ten million dollars she'd stolen from Lex, and no doubt she'd set up an alternate identity, or identities.

It was obvious to Clark. Lana didn't want to be associated with him anymore. The feeling was mutual.

He said as much to Chloe. She looked at him in polite disbelief. Of course she would, Clark thought. It was over a year to him. It had been a few days for her. How could she know the depth of his transformation? How could she see that he was no longer the Clark Kent who loved Lana Lang, the Clark Kent who repeatedly ignored and insulted his good friend Chloe Sullivan?

"Chloe," he tried again. "I had a lot of lonely nights in the other world."

"I'll bet you did," she said dryly.

"Whoops. That didn't come out right," Clark said, blushing. "I mean, there were a lot of times I woke up at three o'clock in the morning and wanted to call you, or tell you something, or – "

"Or what?"

"I missed you. I missed my friend." Clark noted that Chloe's pulse had sped up. "I want to be honest with you."

"A first, for Clark Kent," Chloe riposted.

Clark blushed. He'd had to lie to her until he told her his secret, that was a given. But even after that he'd been less than truthful with her sometimes. "I'm not going to lie to you, ever again, Chloe," he said softly. "I swear it." He smiled, just a bit. "That's why you'll know I'm telling the truth when I tell you I want, um, when I ask you, will you be my girlfriend?"

Chloe's pulse rate spiked. She tried to draw her hand away and Clark wouldn't let her. She glared at him and he let her hand go. She sprang up out of her chair and began pacing around the kitchen.

"Your girlfriend? Clark, you really were knocked silly in the other world."

"No I wasn't, Chloe. In fact, I'm finally in my right mind. I want you. I want your fire, and your intelligence. I want your courage and tenacity. I want the Chloe who's the best friend I ever had, even if I didn't treat her like it."

Chloe didn't look at him as she continued to pace. "Clark, you love Lana. That's how it's always been."

"Not anymore," Clark said, frustrated. Of course he should have realized that Chloe would be skeptical. "I told you, I saw what Lana is really like. You opened my eyes." He got up and headed toward her. Chloe stopped, and allowed him to enfold her in his arms.

"I want you, Chloe. You. I want your humor, and your snarkiness, and the way you keep me humble."

"God knows you've done enough to be humble about," Chloe said from somewhere in his shoulder. Were there tears in her voice?

"Yeah. Who else would tell me I'm being an idiot?"

"I have no problem with that." She turned her face away from his chest and looked up at him.

"I'm glad. Because I'm going to need that more and more. Chloe, if I'm going public as Kal-El – well, no, I _am_ going public as Kal-El. I need you to help me with that. You can tell me what to do. You can tell me the best way to do things."

"You just want a media handler."

"No. I want you. The fact that you can handle the media is just one more facet of your eternally fascinating personality." He looked down at her, and hoped that she saw the sincerity in his eyes. "Chloe, I spent a year without you. You know how they say you never know what you had till it's gone? Well, that's true. Life was a lot worse without you, and a lot better with you."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, Clark." She leaned into him. "Girlfriend, eh? Are you really sure about that?"

He tensed up and she caught his tension. "What?"

She backed away from him. He ushered her back to her seat at the kitchen table, and sat down himself.

"Now I have to tell you the downside."

"The fact that knowing your secret is dangerous? Clark, I already knew that."

"Besides that."

"What, then?" Chloe asked impatiently.

"I really shouldn't have asked you to be my girlfriend," Clark began.

"Can't you get it straight? Yes, no, which?"

Clark blushed. "I was being selfish. I want you, but if you're my girlfriend, we…" he trailed off.

"What? Clark, may I point out that not five minutes ago, you said you'd never lie to me again?"

"Uh, right. If you're my girlfriend, I mean, I want that really bad, but it wouldn't be fair to you…"

"Clark, would you just get to the point." Chloe laid her hands on the table and had gotten up halfway.

"If you're my girlfriend, we couldn't have a physical relationship." Clark got it all out in one breath. He refused to meet Chloe's eyes.

"A physical relationship?" Chloe asked. "You mean…"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence.

Chloe finally broke it. "Let me see if I have this straight. And Clark, look at me."

Clark lifted his head.

"You've dumped Lana."

"Yes."

"You want me to be your girlfriend."

"Yes."

"But we can't have sex."

"Uh, yes."

"Why not?" Chloe asked reasonably. "You know, it's sort of implied in the _girlfriend_ word."

Clark looked away again. "You remember that conversation we had at the _Daily Planet_ a few years ago? The one that was awkward factor eight?"

"No… " Chloe's eyes widened. "Yes."

"Um… I don't dare have, um, a sexual relationship, uh, with a human woman. What would happen if I, um, lost control?"

Chloe stifled a shudder, and Clark knew the same things he'd obsessed about over and over were going through her mind.

"So, I know it's really selfish, to want you, and at the same time – "

"Clark, shut up."

He shut up.

"You are a lunkhead."

"I know that, Chloe," Clark said cautiously, "but how am I a lunkhead this time?"

She didn't answer the question directly. Instead, she came over to him. He stood up nervously.

"You can knock someone unconscious with a finger flick, right?"

"Well… yes."

Chloe stepped up next to him, well within his personal space. "You were showing me the aura thing earlier this evening?"

A wave of understanding crashed over Clark. He could hardly speak. "Yes."

"Extend that aura, buster."

He made the almost-unconscious adjustment. If he were flying, he wouldn't have had to think about it. Now he did it automatically whenever he flew. Since he right now he was standing on the kitchen floor, he had to make extending his aura an act of will.

"Now hit me," Chloe ordered him. "Try to knock me out."

"Chloe…"

"Just do it."

"You sound like a shoe commercial," Clark complained.

"Stop stalling. Hit me."

Clark took a deep breath. He checked his aura – yep, fully extended. He reached one hand up behind Chloe's head. He knew about how much force it would take to knock a human unconscious, and he deliberately used a quarter of that. He didn't want to give Chloe a concussion.

Nothing happened. His fingers bounced off her scalp.

Chloe knew him. "I think you weren't really trying there, Clark. Put some effort into it."

His chest spasmed at the thought. If he really "put effort into it", he could kill her. Clark compromised by increasing the force behind his finger-flick.

Nothing again. Chloe remained upright and conscious – and fearless. Who in the other world would have put their life in his power so trustingly? Well, Martha finally had, when she was desperate and there was no alternative. She hadn't volunteered like Chloe.

With gradually increasing surety, Clark repeated his action, adding more force to each blow. By the time he was certain, he'd put full power into it. As a further experiment, he tried pinching her arm. The fingers that could bend steel and shatter rocks slipped off her creamy skin. The conclusion was clear: When Chloe was protected by his aura, she was protected _from_ him as well.

Clark felt weak in the knees. He let Chloe go and quickly sat down. For so long, he'd convinced himself that there was no chance of a physical relationship. For so long, he'd believed that for him to make love to a human woman, while he was in possession of his abilities, was to kill her. Sure, Martha had been used by Zod, but Clark had discounted that, figuring that Zod had had Brainiac or the Fortress do something to keep Martha alive through his assaults. But that wasn't it. No doubt Martha had survived her abuse due to Zod's aura.

Just like Chloe could survive him. Clark didn't intend to repeat what Zod had done – never! But sex – _consensual_ sex – was no longer off the menu.

"Oh golly," Clark said inadequately. "I never – "

"You never thought of that? I guessed as much when you started going all noble on me," Chloe teased him.

"I _am _a lunkhead," Clark said, keeping his head down. Now that the surprise was over, thoughts – _physical_ thoughts – raced through his mind.

"You are," Chloe agreed, giggling. "This whole 'I want you to be my girlfriend thing – "

"_Will_ you be my girlfriend?" Clark interrupted. "Will you?" Suddenly it seemed the most important thing in the world.

Chloe pulled her chair over next to his and took his hand in hers. "Of course I will, you big moron," she said softly. "Of course."

Clark's heart was too full for him to speak. Instead, he cast his aura around Chloe. The degree of difficulty was greater because she only touched his hand; she wasn't snugged up against his body as most of his air passengers had been. Clark managed to cover her with his aura, and vowed that from now on, whenever possible, he would keep her under his protection. Whenever they touched, his aura would blanket her. She would be as safe as he could make her.

"Did you just extend your aura?" Chloe asked, surprising him.

"Yes. How did you know?" Clark was surprised. No one else had ever said anything.

"It tingles, just a little bit." She leaned closer in to him. He stood up. She stood up, not letting go of his hand. He leaned in to kiss her. She leaned into the kiss. Lips met and passions rose up.

Chloe came up for air, literally. She moved her head back, breathing heavily. She looked at Clark and laughed.

"Your eyes are red." She knew what that meant. Only Chloe and Clark's parents knew that Clark's heat vision could be triggered by sexual arousal.

"Uh…" Clark let her go, unwrapping his arms from around her. He closed his eyes in embarrassment, desperately striving to bring the heat vision under control. He hadn't been this uncontrolled since the ability first manifested. He shuddered at the thought of Chloe right next to uncontrolled heat vision – it would be like being next to a blowtorch for her. The horrible thought helped him rein in the heat, and opened his eyes.

Chloe's knowing smile brought the red right back. God, she was beautiful.

"So, Clark, how about going upstairs to the bedroom and testing out this boyfriend-girlfriend thing?" Chloe asked brightly.

Clark clamped his eyelids shut, marched through the kitchen by feel (not hitting any furniture due to familiarity) and into the living room. He opened his eyes and shot bolts of heat vision into the fireplace. The logs flared up.

Chloe followed him. "A little premature combustion?" she snarked.

"Chloe, it's been a year. _A year._"

At his desperate tone, Chloe softened.

Clark went on. "Do you want to? Do you really want to?" _God, please let her be serious, _he prayed. Despite himself, his fear leaked through. He wasn't human. He'd told his mother that he knew that, and he did know it, very well. He'd spent a year in a world where everyone hated him. It left him unsure. Could anyone love him? And here was Chloe, offering. Offering herself, his dream for the past year come true. It was too good to be true.

"I want to," she said softly. "I want you, Clark Kent."

He trembled with the force of his wanting. And yet he had to make sure she knew what she was getting into. "Last chance, Chloe."

She came up to him and hugged him. "First chance, Clark."

Her body nestled up to his, and he knew that she could feel his arousal. His eyes blazed red.

"I hope you don't mind being taken upstairs at super-speed," he growled.

"I'm looking forward to it," she teased him as he swung her up into his arms. "And this flying thing – I've got some ideas – "


	49. Chapter 49

_There – Three Days Later_

I slowly struggled out of the darkness. I'd had unsettling dreams of being eaten alive, my flesh disappearing bite by bite. I managed to open my eyes. It took more effort than lifting a fifty-pound weight. Fortunately, when I woke, I discovered I was all there.

Warmth at my hand alerted me to Perry's presence. He drowsed in the chair next to my bed, my hand loosely cradled in his. I thought about pulling my hand away. I didn't want to. I stayed with him, enjoying his touch.

After a moment he moved slightly, and woke up. His face went from disappointed to overjoyed in the space of a heartbeat. Our eyes met. The love I saw in his astounded me.

He held my hand tighter. "Martha." I loved his voice. It echoed in my thoughts. . "You're awake." He choked on that last.

I tried to reply. My throat was dry and sore. I cleared my throat and tried to speak. Only a squeak came out. Perry reached over to a bedside table and held a straw in a cup of ice water to my lips. The cool water was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

"P... Perry." I managed to say his name. I felt so tired.

"Martha. Thank God." Perry leaned over me, and the intense strain on his face cascaded into a veritable waterfall of relief.

His words were quiet, but they attracted attention. A tall figure came out of the distance. I knew the man. He sat down in the other chair near my bed.

"Martha," said Bruce Wayne. "It's good to see you awake." That was all he said. I knew Bruce. He rarely wasted words.

"Thank you, Bruce," I managed to get out. Even those few words tired me. I wanted to thank him. I'd worked with him before, gotten to know him as well as anyone could know the taciturn, self-contained heir to Wayne Enterprises. In our escape from the dying Fortress, I'd cast around frantically for someone – _anyone_ – who could serve as a destination and an anchor. Bruce had fulfilled that role admirably.

Bruce was solid. He was dependable. He was like Perry in those respects. He also was very scary at times, unlike Perry. At times Bruce could exude menace that frightened even me, and I'd stood up to a Kryptonian. We'd been in the Resistance together, and I'd worked with him for a few months immediately after Zod's downfall, before I worked with Clark. We liked and respected each other.

"Martha," Bruce said gently, "I want to hear the story, when you're ready." No pressure, no urging. Bruce was a good partner.

Why would I not be ready? Oh yes, because exhaustion dragged me down? Because – I looked down at myself – I was in a hospital bed, attached to several IV lines, a bunch of monitors, and (I recognized the feeling) a urinary catheter? What had happened to me?

Bruce seemed to recognize my questioning glance, for he began talking. "You and the others materialized here." As my gaze turned frantic, he quickly reassured me. "Everyone else is OK. But you've been in a coma for three days, Martha."

No wonder Perry looked so haggard. I knew, somehow, that he hadn't left my bedside for those three days.

"Alfred and I got you settled," Bruce said, indicating the hospital bed and associated paraphernalia with a quick nod of his head, "but we were getting a little worried. If you hadn't woken up by tomorrow, we were going to put in a feeding tube."

That's right. Bruce's "butler" (that was Alfred's official title, despite the fact that it was ridiculous for anyone to have a servant these days) was a man of many talents. When I'd been here before, I had brought up various topics in conversation. Alfred knew something about everything, no matter what I mentioned. Somehow I wasn't surprised that Alfred was a crackerjack critical care nurse, too.

Sleep – true sleep, not the lost and restless wandering through the darkness that I'd been in before – beckoned me irresistibly. My eyelids drooped. Perry and Bruce recognized it, and Perry quickly added, "Martha, everyone is OK. Now get some sleep."

I nodded to him, just before I nodded off.

* * *

The next time I woke, I felt close to human. After a minute, I recognized the irony of that statement. Unfortunately, I didn't feel more-than-human, like a Kryptonian. I felt less-than-human, like some sort of scaly thing that crawled out from under a rock, desperately searching for sun and warmth.

The good news was that my only attachment was one IV line. All the monitors, the urinary catheter, and the other IV's had been removed.

Perry's chair was empty, and I mourned that. But Alfred sat in the other chair, and I smiled at his smile. Alfred hardly ever smiled. He kept the expressionless butler's countenance no matter what. Bruce had told me once that he'd caught Alfred on security footage during Zod's conquering and genocide, and again after Zod's overthrow, and had compared the pictures. There was no difference in Alfred's expression.

But Alfred smiled today, a network of wrinkles coming into being on the usually blank countenance. "Ms Clark," he said, "I am delighted to see you." I knew he was. Alfred engaged in polite circumlocutions, but not with me. And I didn't with him. We'd settled that right from the start.

Alfred passed me the cup of water, and after a long and glorious drink, I asked him. "Alfred, what's going on? Where is everyone?"

"Mr. White is asleep." Alfred correctly identified Perry as my first priority. "Miss Milan is engaged in, shall we call it, a "chalk talk" with Dr. Klein. Master Dick is being tutored by Mr. Wayne, and Ms Tanner is observing."

"Tutoring?" I blurted, before I realized that Bruce was probably training his ward Dick Grayson in some sort of martial arts. That was probably why Gloria was watching.

The last time I'd been here in Wayne Manor, Dick had been only fourteen or so, too young and boyish to give Bruce any kind of a challenge. I'd sparred with Bruce then, in an attempt to keep up my fitness and my combat techniques, although I was hopelessly outclassed. Bruce had mentioned once that he'd learned his art in some monastery in Tibet years ago, and he worked every day at it. He was the most dangerous fighter I'd ever known.

Not the deadliest. That had been Zod, who reveled in killing. But Zod was an amateur, a butcher, able to do what he'd done because he was Kryptonian. Bruce fought with surgical precision, and with speed that had seemed superhuman, that is, until I met Clark.

Lex hadn't let Bruce come to the assault on Zod's Fortress. If things had turned out poorly – if Clark or Kara had betrayed us, or if the assault failed – we were counting on Bruce. He would be the next leader of the Resistance, humanity's final hope. But things had worked out. Clark had remained true. Kara had died. Zod and the others had been killed. And Bruce had effortlessly stepped into leading the recovery here on the east coast.

"Shall I call for Mister Wayne?" Alfred asked gently. I must have been lost in thought.

"Yes – no." I looked down at myself. "Alfred, can I get a shower?"

The perfect butler's mask slid back into place. "Of course, Ms Clark."

"Martha."

"Very well. Martha." I'd had to insist on informality before. I'd earned it, during my travels with Bruce and Alfred right after the overthrow. Alfred naturally defaulted to a servant's formality. But he was more than just a servant. The butler act was a façade and he knew I knew it.

I knew he was Bruce's medical advisor. In fact, as he gently removed my IV line, I knew it was he who'd cared for me since I brought our little group of Fortress refugees here. That didn't change the fact that Alfred chose to play the part of butler. As I luxuriated in the sheer ecstasy of a hot shower, I reflected that he played his part very well.

Alfred had set out a thick terrycloth robe for me and I wrapped up after my shower. How had Bruce – or, more likely, Alfred - kept everything going during the Occupation? Somehow, he had, and I was going to enjoy it. Except now that I felt tired again. I called to Alfred and he came in, just in time to keep me from collapsing.

He guided me back to my bed. As he did, I saw that my hospital room was part of the large cavern system that underlay Wayne Manor and much of its grounds. Bruce had adapted parts of the cavern system for his own purposes. I'd learned that much when I worked with him before. That the thick covering of earth over the caves defeated the special vision of the invading Kryptonians was just a bonus.

Alfred tucked me in and I fell asleep.

* * *

That was the pattern for the next few months. I'd wake up, I'd do something, and then I'd be exhausted and have to sleep again. I slept eighteen to twenty hours a day for weeks. I'd severely strained my vitality in escaping from the Fortress and taking everyone with me through the collapsing portal.

Perry thought it was from another reason. "You were linked to the Fortress," he argued. "The Fortress died, and you almost died. It wanted to take you with it."

I disagreed. I thought Jor-El had wanted me to live. If the dying Fortress had stolen some of my life force, it was because Jor-El couldn't help it.

No matter. I recovered. My recovery was slow, but I did get a little better every day. The tiredness, and the vomiting, and the emotional storms – I had to live with them. But I told myself every day that I was getting better.

Perry stayed with me. He was almost always at my bedside when I woke up. After the first few anxious days, Bruce and Alfred conceded that I didn't need any specialized monitoring or medical care – all I needed was rest. I took that as permission to have Perry sleep in my bed. And, as I grew stronger, he began to "sleep with me" in addition to sleeping with me.

We both craved the sun, and after the first week, Alfred moved us up to a room in Wayne Manor – a room with wide, tall windows. We kept the drapes open.

The others came to visit me frequently, hoping they would catch me awake. Dr. Klein was happy as a clam. Bruce had set him up in a room and had asked him to do what he could to improve our technology with the knowledge that Bernie had obtained from the Kryptonian download and all the information from his data crystal. Bernie often enlisted Miranda in his efforts. Despite her youth, she had had the download as well, and she'd been tutored by Jor-El. I went to visit them sometimes, and it was funny to see the tiny teenager arguing her point with the grizzled professor, and winning.

Even better, from the things they and Bruce said, it looked like human technology was going to take a quantum leap. When Clark, Perry, Jor-El and I had restored the Earth, we'd also taken away almost all of the remnants of our technological civilization. Sure, we'd tried to save the important things. But I had feared that with the loss of the dead cities and their contents, humanity would slip back into medieval conditions – peasantry working the land, feudal barons holding off bandits, no labor-saving devices, a big trip being a five-mile walk to the next village. But the Kryptonian technology had given ours a boost, and now we had hopes of regaining an advanced civilization. Things weren't going to be as bad as I feared.

Miranda didn't spend all her time with Bernie. Bruce's ward, Dick Grayson, seemed interested in her, and Miranda reciprocated his affections. Miranda took to joining Bruce and Dick in their daily workout sessions. I watched her stretch and tumble sometimes and tsk'ed over my own softening physical skills. I tried to exercise, but I was so tired that it was all I could do to get out of bed sometimes.

Gloria also worked out with Bruce quite frequently. She came to talk with me now and then. By tacit agreement, when we talked, neither of us mentioned anything about Clark, or Kryptonians, or the Fortress, or future plans. I didn't worry about Gloria. She would be an asset wherever she went – she was tough. She was a survivor and a leader. And Bruce was the kind of person who would be able to put Gloria's talents to their best use.

The days passed, and I grew stronger. Three months had passed since we had escaped the dying Fortress, and I felt better. My morning vomiting had mostly stopped, and I only needed one nap during the day.

Bruce came to dinner with Perry and me that night. It wasn't unusual – after all, we were living in his house – but Bruce did spend a lot of time coordinating the recovery. In a way, he _was_ a feudal baron.

Alfred had set us up in a rarely used small dining room. The food didn't live up to the décor, being preserved military rations, but Alfred made up for that with some fresh hothouse vegetables and a fine wine from the Wayne cellars. I thought he would stay and eat with us, but apparently our conversation was to be private.

Bruce joined us. We ate our salads with the blissful respect they deserved. After that, Bruce topped off our wine glasses. "How's your book coming?" he asked Perry.

Perry was working on a book detailing the events of the Kryptonian Occupation, the overthrow, and the recovery. I'd thrown out the idea two months ago, in one of my short awake periods. Perry wouldn't leave me, but so much of the time all I did was sleep. He'd considered my casual idea for about two seconds and then decided he would write the definitive history.

It made sense. He had been in Zod's presence. He'd seen Brainiac. The _Daily Planet _was the newspaper of record for humanity's downfall, and Perry White had been Editor-In-Chief during that time.

When Fortune's Wheel turned for Zod and the others, Perry was there. He met Clark, the "good Kryptonian". Perry was there when the Fortress was re-instantiated, and when the Earth was restored. And of course, he'd played an intimate and important part in the latter.

As for the parts he wasn't there for… well, I was. I had been a Kryptonian prisoner. I had been in the Resistance. I had worked with Lex, and Chloe, and the other leaders. And of course, I'd worked with Clark, and the Fortress had been half mine.

Anything I didn't know, Bruce did. He stoically put up with Perry's questions and interviews. Not surprisingly, Alfred turned out to be a better source. Bruce couldn't help being close-mouthed, even in the best of times.

I knew Perry's book would be a landmark historical volume. And I was glad that he had taken on the job. The deaths of billions of humans and the downfall of our civilization should be remembered somehow. Perry White would do it justice.

"It's coming along nicely, thanks," Perry said to Bruce, breaking me out of my reverie. "How about you?"

"Well, I'm glad to see that the bats are back in the caverns," Bruce said. At my look of incomprehension he explained. "You know that on the grounds, there's an extensive series of natural caverns." I nodded. "There was a large bat colony in one section of the caves," Bruce went on. "Fortunately, they don't use the part of the caverns that I use, but I know where they live."

Of course he did. Bruce knew things.

"They weren't doing all that well before the Kryptonians came – they got the white-nose fungus. And then, when the climate changed, that was the last straw – they all died."

That had been the epitaph for so much of Earth.

"But the bats are back now, Martha, thanks to you." Bruce sounded grateful. I'd never liked bats myself, but I knew they were important in insect control and pollination. Bruce seemed to have an odd liking for them.

"Thanks to Clark, too," I said, embarrassed. "I wish you could have met him."

Bruce said nothing for a moment, considering. Then he said, "I don't know how well we would have worked together."

It was my turn to consider. Bruce was forceful, I knew that. All his life he'd been top dog – first because of his parents and his name, next because of his wealth, and then, after the aliens came, because of his martial arts prowess and leadership skills.

If he worked with Clark, things might change. He wouldn't be the strongest or fastest anymore. His money was useless in this world we lived in now. I knew that Clark was perfectly willing to be led, but did Bruce? But, I thought, if they worked together, no one could defeat them. Clark's strength and moral character, Bruce's intelligence and preparation – they would be an unbeatable team.

I compromised by saying, "Hmmm."

"I did have plenty of observations on Clark," Bruce added, surprising me.

"Observations?" Perry asked.

Bruce got that closed-in look again. "I have my sources."

"What did your sources say?" I was curious.

Where I would have shrugged, Bruce remained still. He kept his voice even. "Clark didn't break the terms of his deal."

"But?"

"I was ready for him if he did."

"Did you know about the bomb and the GPS?" I asked.

"What?"

I was pleased at his surprise.

"Lex implanted a bomb in Clark's abdomen and a GPS tracker under his skin," Perry explained.

Bruce's face became even more impassive, if that were possible. "No."

Interesting. Lex had been playing his cards close to his vest there. Everyone at the council meeting that day had known, but Lex hadn't told Bruce. Why not? I wondered if Lex had told Oliver. After all, Oliver was third in command should Lex and Bruce fail in taking down a rogue Kryptonian.

Bruce looked as if gears were whirring inside his head. "I do have an update about Lex and Chloe," he said.

"Yes?" Perry and I both leaned forward.

"My sources have it that their marriage is on the rocks. They're sleeping in separate bedrooms and arguing most of the time."

I dearly wanted to know how Bruce knew this. I also knew he would never tell me. I settled for asking "Why?"

"Lex continues to believe that Clark's actions were an unmitigated disaster," Bruce said. "He thinks that the restoration of the Earth is the first step of a secret plan which will end in humanity's enslavement once again."

Perry raised his eyebrows. He was very good at conveying disbelief with an economy of expression.

"Chloe, on the other hand, believes that Clark did what he said he was going to do, and that the Kryptonian threat is ended."

I nodded emphatically. I'd been there.

"Lex is of the opinion that Chloe, during her healing, was brainwashed. He believes that her mind was altered and that she can no longer be trusted." Bruce's tone was dry.

"What do you believe, Bruce?" Perry challenged him.

Bruce coolly looked us over. "You two were in the Fortress. You were eyewitnesses." A silence that seemed longer than it really was filled the air. "I think I'll reserve judgment."

"But Clark is gone! The Fortress is gone!" I protested.

A tinge of a smile whipped across Bruce's face, almost too fast to be seen. "The preponderance of the evidence supports that scenario." Then his face turned serious. "I'll be ready if the situation is different."

I could only nod. That was Bruce – always prepared, even for what I thought were the most insubstantial contingencies. How could I protest? His meticulous preparations had saved my life more than once, back when I worked together. This time, I knew, he was wrong. Clark was gone, the Fortress was destroyed, and neither was coming back. But if he wanted to prepare for another Kryptonian Invasion, I wouldn't say no.

Bruce shifted a little bit. For such a controlled man, the tiny motion spoke as much as an obvious shiver would have for me. "You two…" he said uncomfortably.

"Yes?" Perry asked.

Bruce seemed to gather himself, and that mask of imperturbability slid over his features once more. "You two were in the Fortress. You worked with Clark."

I thought I saw where Bruce was going with this. "You think we've been brainwashed?"

He stared at me with that calculating look. "I think you've changed."

"Well, of course – " I began.

"Or you've been changed."

I snapped my mouth closed. Bruce was right.

Bruce continued. "Regular people don't have their hair turn from white back to red." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "At least not without some chemical assistance. But your hair, Martha – it's growing in red."

"Auburn," I growled.

"Auburn," Bruce agreed, with just a little smile. "And Perry, you're looking younger every day."

My eyes met Perry's and I saw that like me, he was remembering the changes Jor-El had made to us to make us stronger. I hadn't fully examined all the implications of that moment. But it looked like Bruce had.

Tongue-tied, I wondered how to explain it to Bruce while not sounding like something worse than a Kryptonian collaborator. I didn't know myself. I hadn't gotten all the details about Jor-El's changes to our bodies. It looked like I should have read the fine print.

Perry stepped in. "I already told you all about that, Bruce." At my questioning look, he mouthed, "While you were asleep."

"You did," Bruce said, "and I'm not sure what to make of it." His statement hung in the air, with all the years of the bitter Kryptonian Occupation and his work in the Resistance ringing through us. Could he trust us? Had we been changed to be some sort of Trojan Horses? I knew we weren't, but then I was a biased observer. How could I prove that to Bruce?

"Two things," Bruce said, breaking into my frantic thoughts.

Perry stepped closer to me and took my hand. "What?"

"I'd like you to continue to be my guests. Indefinitely." Bruce's smile didn't match his intent eyes.

I cleared my throat. "Certainly." Perry nodded. It made sense. Bruce didn't actively _distrust_ us, but he certainly didn't trust us either. We'd worked with a Kryptonian to change the Earth, and we'd been changed ourselves. My mind whirled with the implications. I couldn't think about all of that right now.

Instead, I made myself think about Bruce's offer – or thinly disguised command. The reason was obvious. Bruce wanted to keep an eye on us. Was it a case of 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? If so, what were we – friend or enemy? I knew. Like Clark, we were friends. But perhaps Bruce didn't know for sure. Suddenly I knew exactly how Clark had felt all his time in our world. His intentions were honorable, but everyone disbelieved him (at worst) or suspected him (at best.) And how could he prove that he meant no harm? How could he prove a negative? How could I?

But Bruce's offer was the best thing for us. We'd burned our bridges with Lex – we'd witnessed his imprisonment at the Fortress, seen him stab Clark, and watched as he deliberately left us to what he thought would be our deaths. Going back to Metropolis base, or anywhere within close proximity of Lex Luthor, was right out. In fact, given Lex's tendencies, Bruce's protection was probably the only thing that had kept us alive so far. And although Lois and Oliver would welcome us at the Pacific coast colony, we had no Kryptonian to fly us there and no way to cross three thousand miles of rough country.

Here, in stately Wayne Manor, we had food, clothing, and shelter. But…

"I'll need some sort of work to do," I warned Bruce. Now that I was recovering, I couldn't be idle. "Perry too."

"I'm sure there will be plenty for both of you to do," Bruce replied, with another of those faint smiles.

"OK, then, we accept your gracious invitation." Try as I might, I couldn't keep a certain tartness out of my tone.

"I'm glad to have you." Something in Bruce's voice told me it was the truth. After all, we'd worked together in the Resistance during the Occupation, and afterward. We were friends, at least to some degree. Perry hadn't known Bruce before, but they'd rapidly come to like and respect each other. I softened. If Bruce felt that he had to keep us under observation, well, so be it. I knew we were OK, and eventually Bruce would realize that too.

Perry squeezed my hand. "You said there were two things. What's the second?"

At this, Bruce went still. My attention fixed on him. When Bruce went still, he was dangerous. Then he relaxed, and actually seemed uncomfortable.

"I'd like you to take this." He put a small box in my hand.

I looked down. It was a pregnancy test. I stared at Bruce uncomprehendingly.

"Alfred suggested it, actually," Bruce muttered. He was definitely embarrassed, a far cry from the usual suave playboy. "Uh, please let me know the results." Without bothering to say good-bye, he beat a quick retreat.

I stared at the box again. Anger welled up. "Is this some sort of joke?" Bruce knew I couldn't have children. He'd managed to elicit the information from me before one of our Resistance missions. I raised my voice. "Bruce! You can tell Alfred his joke is in extremely poor taste!"

Perry's gaze was fixed on the package too. A considering expression crossed his face. "You know, Martha…" he began.

"What? This is nuts!" I snapped. I was always sensitive about my infertility. It struck to the heart of being a woman. I had been unable to give my husband children. I was barren.

Perry shrugged. He knew my moods by now. He knew I'd listen if he kept his tone even. "I don't know, Martha. You're tired all the time, you're sick in the mornings – "

"So?"

"Your breasts are bigger." He leered at me with a cheerful smile.

I had to smile back.

Perry turned serious. "You're like Alice was when she was pregnant with our boys."

I knew Perry had been married, and divorced. I knew he had had two sons. One son had lived in Washington DC which had been destroyed early on during the Occupation. Perry had let me know, the single time we'd talked about our lost loved ones, that Alice and his other son had died in the bioengineered plagues.

His words cut off my incipient rant. Instead, I murmured, "But it's impossible."

"Yes, it is," Perry agreed. "But I still think you should take that test."

I met his eyes. Then, silently, I went into the bathroom, read the directions, and took the test.

It was positive.

"It's impossible," I muttered. I couldn't have children. Jonathan and I had tried for years, and he was fertile. The doctors had confirmed that. The fault was mine. And, when I was captured by the Kryptonians… I couldn't remember everything, I knew I'd chosen to let go of those memories, but when I thought about Zod's Fortress, something reinforced the feeling that pregnancy for me was impossible.

There were two tests in the box. I took the second test. I waited nervously as the seconds counted down with glacial slowness.

Positive again.

I came out of the bathroom and silently handed Perry the test. He looked at it. "Positive," he muttered. It didn't take a genius to deduce that. The makers of the test kit had kindly arranged for a positive result to show up as a large "+" sign.

I watched Perry carefully. He caught my anxious gaze and met it with his own. A slow smile spread across his face. He gathered me in and hugged me. "You're pregnant," he murmured. He sounded very happy.

I clutched him in a daze. "I don't know how it happened."

He let me go and chuckled. "I think you know the facts of life, Martha."

"I know _that_." I pushed him gently. "Daddy." As Perry got a wondering look, I added, "I just don't know _how_. You know what I mean." My mind whirled.

"It must have been the Fortress." Perry had that considering look again.

"The Fortress?"

"What else could it be?" Perry asked rhetorically. "I don't think that I'm imagining the new hair growing in my bald spot. And I feel better than I have in a long time. You – well, you're looking younger every day and you're pregnant."

Pregnant. With child. Expecting. Oh my God. It was really going to happen. I wasn't prepared for this. I'd written off the possibility. What was I going to do? I didn't have the first clue about being a parent.

Perry sensed my frantic thoughts. He gathered me in again and held me close. "Let's go tell Bruce now, shall we?"

* * *

Later that evening, in our bed, I snuggled up next to Perry. He was always warm. "Quite a day," I muttered.

The announcement of my pregnancy had triggered an impromptu celebration. Alfred had pulled out some dusty bottles of champagne from the Wayne Manor cellars, and some sparkling grape juice for me. Our little group had congratulated and toasted Perry and me.

Gloria had just raised a cynical eyebrow, but joined in the toast. Miranda was ecstatic, and asked Bruce if she could stay till I had the baby. Bernie was awkwardly affectionate in a fuzzy sort of way. Dick had shaken my hand with a quiet "Congratulations," and Alfred had retained his imperturbable butler's mask.

Bruce had extended his not-quite-optional offer to stay here at Wayne Manor to an indefinite length. Perry and I had looked at each other and taken him up on it. Bruce would be an excellent godfather.

Perry held me close and broke into my musings. "Penny for your thoughts."

"I'm still in a daze," I admitted. "It's even worse now that I've had a few hours to think about it."

"You get that way," he said, reminiscence in his tone. "You start thinking about it, all the time, for the next six months. And afterward."

"Perry?" I said quietly.

"Yes?"

"I never asked you what you thought."

He turned to look at me. "Did you have to ask me? I'm happy. I'm ecstatic. And will you answer one question?"

"Yes?"

"Will you marry me?" Perry asked earnestly. "I want to be married to the mother of our child."

I leaned over and kissed him. Our passion flared, and I answered him "Yes" with my body.

* * *

Afterward, we lay quietly. "Have you thought of a name?" Perry asked out of the stillness.

"No… not really." I stayed silent for a moment. "I was wondering… Clark said that I, the other me, named him after my maiden name."

"So, if it's a boy, do you want to call him Clark?" Perry probed.

"I'm not sure. We owe a lot to him, and I don't want to forget him. On the other hand, maybe he should be the only "Clark" in our lives." I turned over. "I have to think about it."

Perry fitted his chest against my back and held me. "I wonder how he's doing."

"Me too."

"I wonder if he's out there, flying around," Perry murmured sleepily.

"In that ridiculous suit," I added. We would never know. But here, safe and warm in bed with Perry, and pregnant (_pregnant!_), I said a prayer for Clark, hoping that he was safe and warm too, and happy.

I yawned. I had a new life to grow inside me, and I was tired. I went to sleep.


	50. Chapter 50

_Three months later – here _

Clark smiled as he arrowed through the upper atmosphere. Life was good. Well, maybe not for the small town in southern California where there'd just been a Richter 7.7 magnitude earthquake, where he was going to help right now. But his personal life was going well.

He had gone public, using his powers openly. He wore the Suit – and he'd gotten the red boots. He had to admit Oliver had been right. The boots did look sharp along with the cape. There had been initial public disbelief, quickly followed by awe, when he saved the prototype space plane from a fiery crash in its maiden flight. After that, Clark had gone around the world, rescuing people, stopping robberies, helping with natural disasters, and getting cats out of trees.

Initially, the media speculation, unsurprisingly, had been intense. So they decided to release information about him slowly. Chloe, armed with the first "interview" had applied for a reporter's job at the _Metropolis Star_. She didn't bother applying at the _Daily _Planet – Lex Luthor owned that newspaper. Unfortunately, "Chloe Sullivan" was blacklisted throughout the media world, thanks to Lex Luthor. Even the _Star_ – not owned by Lex – paid attention to Lex's enemies list. It looked as if Chloe's dreams of a journalistic career would be foiled.

Fortunately, Chloe's cousin had come through. When Chloe told her about the blacklisting, Lois had erupted. Lois had disliked Lex before and now she hated him.

Lois had confessed to Clark and Chloe that she really didn't feel right in the investigative reporter job. She liked the society beat much better. The _Daily Planet_ had a house name for its Society columnist. Lois Lane became "Cat Grant". She had a nose for gossip, and "Cat Grant's Column" had quickly become _de rigeur_ reading for those interested in scandal. Frankly, Clark thought, the gossip column was probably the best part of the _Planet_, now that Lex had owned the newspaper for several years. Lex had systematically gutted the once-vibrant culture, standards, and ethics of the _Daily Planet._

To spite Lex, and to make sure that his blacklisting didn't affect Chloe's career, Lois offered Chloe the use of her name as Chloe's pseudonym. When Chloe hired on at the _Star_, she wrote her articles under the byline of "Lois Lane."

Although Chloe hated having to conform to the _Star's_ sixth-grade reading level, she'd immediately put her stamp on the newsroom and had already made a name for herself with well-researched, hard-hitting stories. Her interview with "Superman" (as she'd dubbed Clark, much to his embarrassment) had of course made the front page.

Clark made a point of speaking to other print reporters, and giving the TV reporters good pictures, so as not to cause undue speculation as to why Chloe Sullivan got _all_ the Superman stories. But he gave Chloe most of the stories. Every day he thanked his stars that he had the Clark Kent identity to hide behind – the media attention was ferocious and never-ending. The Suit attracted cameras like spilled honey attracted ants.

His mother had done her careful, subtle job. When Clark had revealed himself, there was initial panic on Capitol Hill and other places in Washington. Somehow, his mother had defused that. Clark had been invited to speak to the Armed Services Committee in Congress, a committee on which his mother just happened to serve. Clark had gone there, wearing the Suit, and had solemnly assured the curious politicians, the sober military men, and the TV cameras that he meant no harm. He was a refugee from an exploded world, he told them. No one else from Krypton would be coming to Earth. He meant to use his powers for good, as payment of a sort for his place on his adopted home.

Clark had made a point of speaking with most of the committee members and the generals in private. There had been some delicate overtures as to what he could do, and what he intended to do, and could they get him to work for them, or at least not work for the other side? Clark had feigned ignorance, acting clueless to any implication that he might use his powers against humans.

Fortunately, and because of her careful planning, his mother had managed to include herself in most of the tete-a-tetes, and she subtly guided the conversations. She also gave Clark significant looks at regular intervals, reminding him without words of the scenarios they had practiced. His mother and Chloe had drilled him ruthlessly in the proper things to say and the proper way to say them.

It seemed to work. Even the professional paranoia of the military staff seemed to be subsiding as the days passed and Clark did nothing except save people. Of course, Clark knew they were frantically working on contingency plans, just in case. His mother kept him up to date. Chloe would giggle at his mother's reports, during their dinners together.

So far, nobody had discovered that meteor rock – kryptonite – was his weakness. He knew this blissful state couldn't last, but he would make the most of it while he could.

Meanwhile, Clark had re-started his classes at Central Kansas University; he had only a year and half before he got his journalism degree. He found, to his surprise, that his time in the other world with Perry White had indeed been the equivalent of a college education. Now he knew he could write. Perry had whipped him into shape. Clark Kent was good enough to be a _Daily Planet _reporter. It was just a matter of getting that diploma, so he had the proper credentials.

The re-instantiated, repaired Fortress remained stable. Clark had looked into creating on a trans-universal portal, so he could go back to the other world and find out what happened to the alternate Martha and the others. To his surprise and dismay, he found out that he should have paid more attention to Bernie Klein's ramblings. His Fortress couldn't duplicate the process that had brought him back home. It needed Bernie's unique brand of genius to do that. Clark regretted that he couldn't make sure that Martha and the others were safe. Every day he sent up a silent wish that they had somehow made it home.

He thought about enlisting this world's Bernie Klein, currently engaged in neurosurgical research at STAR Labs. But, in the end, he decided against it. In the other world, everyone had known that Clark was a Kryptonian. It didn't matter if Bernie talked about that. But in this world, Clark's identity as Superman was a closely guarded secret. And Klein _burbled_. Clark already knew that. If Clark took him to the Fortress and had him talk with Jor-El, as the alternate Bernie had done, this world's Klein wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut either. And then Clark Kent's private life would disappear. And Clark _needed_ his private life. He couldn't be Superman all the time.

On the other hand, Clark had finally convinced Chloe to visit the Fortress. The no-longer-crazy Jor-El had enjoyed her company, and the feeling was mutual. Clark had Jor-El set up a portal so that Chloe could get to the Fortress from either Metropolis or Smallville. If Clark was busy (which happened more and more as he tried to juggle the farm, college classes, and his Superman work), it saved Chloe hours of commuting time.

Clark and Chloe lived at the farm, mostly, but Chloe kept her apartment in Metropolis and kept her car there too. Clark kept his truck at the farm. They had the best of both worlds – the excitement and bustle of Metropolis, with an apartment to stay in if they worked late. Or they could take the portal to the farm, and enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside without the long commute. Clark loved that they could snuggle together for an extra hour of sleep in the morning and not have to worry about fighting the Metropolis-bound traffic.

Chloe visited Jor-El frequently, often asking him questions and getting the benefit of his advice. Clark had even gotten her to take the Kryptonian download.

After much reluctance, Martha had finally visited the Fortress as well. Jor-El had treated her like a queen, thanking her for the good job she had done raising Kal-El. That had softened her defenses, and Jor-El asking to look at her photo albums of young Clark had done the rest. Clark had arranged a portal from her apartment building in Washington to the Fortress, and from there to the Kent Farm. It allowed Martha to see much more of Clark and Chloe than would otherwise have been possible, even if she had to visit them surreptitiously. She still didn't see them as much as she would have liked, due to her senatorial duties.

Clark hoped that he could get his mother to allow the Fortress to do a medical scan. Clark still hadn't forgotten the bitterness of realizing that the Fortress could heal, too late to save his father. He'd already lost one parent – or three, if you counted Jor-El and Lara. He wanted to keep his mother alive and well as long as possible. Although his mother was still dubious, Clark was working on her and felt he was wearing down her resistance a little bit every day.

Clark crossed the Rocky Mountains, thinking about his time with the Martha in the other world and how she'd helped him learn to fly. Once again, he sent up a silent wish that she was safe and well.

Thinking about the other world brought his thoughts to Lex. He wondered how the other world's Lex was doing. Lex ought to be happy, now that Clark had left his world and the Fortress was gone. But somehow Clark couldn't imagine any version of Lex Luthor being contented.

This world's Lex was definitely discontented. Chloe had asked Jor-El if he retained any information about Lionel Luthor, who had been the Oracle of the corrupted Fortress. Alas, all information regarding Lionel (and the Fortress would have had a lot of it) had been lost when Clark re-instantiated the Fortress in a clean re-boot.

But, despite the lack of data from the new Fortress, Clark and Chloe had managed to bring down this world's Lex Luthor. Chloe had nailed Lex by a fluke. It turned out that Lionel had had secret surveillance in his office, a system totally separate from the usual Luthorcorp security. Lionel had an information technology person handle the surveillance, paying him well, and, Clark assumed, using Jor-El and the Fortress technology to watch the watcher. When Lex used the penthouse office, Lex thought that his sessions were unobserved and unrecorded – after all, Lex had made sure that usual Luthorcorp surveillance protocols didn't apply there. But earlier, Lionel had made sure that there was a record.

When Lionel died, his IT man had been left adrift – and without a paycheck. The computer geek had made the unwise decision to get into drug dealing; he was already a user. He'd used the surveillance computer system, and he'd also worked out of his basement room at the Luthorcorp building. Unsurprisingly, he was bad at dealing, and the police had a line on him in short order. They'd arrested him, gotten a warrant to look at the Luthorcorp basement room, and, more importantly, the computer data.

The cops got quite a shock. They were expecting data on drug deals. What they got was crystal-clear footage of Lex Luthor throwing his father out the window. An open-and-shut case of murder. Lex wouldn't even be able to argue accident or temporary insanity – his actions of making sure there was no surveillance and sending home all the employees on that floor implied premeditation.

Lex was currently enjoying the hospitality of the state, as a prisoner charged with first-degree murder. The D.A. had successfully argued against bail, citing Lex's wealth and resources as making him a serious flight risk. The prosecutor's office knew that Lex would devote his expensive legal talent to discrediting the evidence against him, so the D.A. and her deputies had hurried to secure other warrants based on the probable cause shown on the surveillance footage.

Armed with the warrants, the police had begun a thorough examination of Luthorcorp facilities, projects, and accounts. Chloe had helped here with quiet tips to her contacts in the police and prosecutor's offices. She'd been tracking Lex for years, and she had all sorts of information which, unfortunately, was not legally admissible. Given her help, the investigators were able to bypass most of the traps and false leads that Lex had set for them. And they had managed to come up with some evidence which _was_ legally admissible.

The evidence of human cloning without informed consent and proper documentation was shocking, as was aiding and abetting illegal immigration, with the immigrants effectively becoming slave labor. Luthorcorp had a "dirty tricks" division, where the records (unfortunately for Lex) mysteriously failed to disappear in time, thanks to a little covert action by Fortress technology. Not to mention holding innocent people prisoner. Clark and Chloe knew that these people were "meteor freaks" and some were dangerous, but legally, these people were being unlawfully imprisoned in a Luthorcorp facility. And many of them were being experimented upon, without their consent. The "experiments" might even be called "torture" by some.

The investigators hadn't managed to find Lana Lang. She'd managed to hide herself away very thoroughly. Chloe cynically thought that if they did find her, Lana would immediately volunteer to turn state's evidence to gain immunity from prosecution. After all, she was as complicit as Lex in some of the cases. Clark tried to disagree with Chloe, but found he couldn't, and admitted to himself that Lana had always had an eye out for the main chance.

Clark only hoped that Lana wouldn't turn up and "out" him as Superman. She knew his secret. She knew he was an alien with powers. Clark hoped that the years of affection between them would cause Lana to keep his secret. Chloe, ever the cynic, pointed out that it was in Lana's self-interest to keep the secret – if Clark Kent were outed as Superman, everyone in Smallville, and _especially_ Clark's friends, would be hounded unmercifully by the media. Lana would keep the secret, Chloe predicted. And no doubt, Chloe added, Lana would appear sometime to ask Clark a favor, in return for keeping her mouth shut.

The _Metropolis Star_ was right on top of things, reporting on the dirty cesspool of Lex's misdeeds. Chloe wrote most of the articles, but as the story grew, more and more reporters got involved. The business writers speculated on the hit to Luthorcorp's stock price and what this might mean for unemployment prospects all over the country. The legal experts opined on the charges against Lex and the chances of him beating them. The ethics & religion reporters and the science reporters had a vigorous debate about human cloning and its implications. All of them condemned the human experimentation.

Strangely enough, the _Daily Planet _lagged in its coverage of the Luthorcorp scandal. After a while it became obvious – their CEO was in trouble, and their usually incisive coverage was lacking.

The board of directors of Luthorcorp – "a bunch of spineless rubber-stampers", as Chloe called them – finally found some fortitude and ordered a full forensic audit of all Luthorcorp departments. They also decided to sell off under-performing divisions. The _Daily Planet_ was one of those, supposedly. Chloe thought that the newspaper was underperforming because it was widely seen as a flabby Luthorcorp propaganda organ, not the keen scalpel exposing wrong-doing that it had once been.

The negotiations were still ongoing, but it was definite – Wayne Enterprises would buy the _Daily Planet._ Chloe had told Clark that the scuttlebutt was that once the deal went through, Perry White would come over from the _Gotham Gazette _to become the new Editor-In-Chief of the _Daily Planet._ Clark was glad to hear that. Maybe this world's Perry didn't know him, but Clark knew a Perry White. The other Perry had been a good friend. Clark hoped that he could develop a similar relationship with this world's Perry. He already knew the essential steel of the editor.

Clark was glad for another reason. When Perry took over the _Daily Planet_, Clark had no doubt that Perry would instill – or restore – the famous _Planet_ standards. Once Lex no longer owned the newspaper, he and Chloe would apply for reporter jobs there. Chloe would be hired in a heartbeat, Clark knew. She'd made a name for herself as a general reporter with the _Metropolis Star_, and the fact that she seemed to be Superman's preferred media contact only put the icing on the cake. Any editor would hire her instantly.

Clark wasn't sure that he would be hired. He would be a newbie, holding a journalism diploma with the ink barely dry. On the other hand, good reporters had left the _Planet_ in droves since Lex bought the paper. Clark thought that if he could only get his foot in the door and show Perry some samples of his work, he'd have a pretty good chance of getting the job.

All in all, things had changed since that day three months ago – or a year and three months ago, depending on how one looked at it – when Clark had been moping in his barn, agonizing over being an alien. He'd come to terms with his heritage. He'd cleaned out the corruption in his Fortress, had learned about his birth planet, and had taken his training. He'd grown comfortable using his alien abilities. He had fallen in love with the most fascinating woman he knew – and yes, they did have a _physical_ relationship, a satisfying physical relationship. He'd seen what the world would have been like without him. He'd saved the woman who would have been his mother. He had saved lives. He had restored a devastated world.

He put all that out of his mind. He had another job to do, a Superman job. It was a smaller job than saving the world, but just as important to the people involved.

He arrowed to the earthquake site in California. Clark scanned the town. It had been severely damaged. Most of the downtown buildings had collapsed in the quake. Dust coated the rubble and floated in the air. The emergency responders had managed to shut off the leaking gas line, Clark noted, and now they were working on rescues. Many people remained trapped in the ruins. He could help them – he could find them with his deep vision and he could remove the rubble faster than construction machinery could get here. Hopefully he would be fast enough to save their lives.

He'd found the difference it made when he met humans with the intent of using his powers for good. He had discovered the satisfaction of doing good deeds nourished him spiritually, as sunlight nourished him physically. Whatever his problems were, someone else in the world had worse ones. And he could help them in ways that no one else could. His mother was right – there was more to do than he ever could get done. And yet whatever he could do was enough.

He landed gently amidst the bustle of rescue workers. Surprised faces looked up, and the initial shocked silence was replaced by awed murmurs and excited gossip. There was no fear in their faces, only amazement that Superman had come. His attendance at natural disasters was coming to be an expected thing, but for him to come to _their_ disaster… well, it was unexpected for them.

Clark asked a gawking first responder where the incident commander was, and the speechless EMT pointed out a grizzled man standing nearby. In the last ten years, most cities and counties had practiced their disaster plans, and there was usually a coordinator who directed the efforts. Clark always looked for an incident commander if there was one on the scene. It was always better to work with someone in charge, Clark had found. They knew what should be done, and in what order, and the best way to coordinate with the other rescue workers.

Of course, sometimes Clark had to tell people what to do. Sometimes there wasn't an incident commander, and sometimes the commander didn't have all the information that Clark was able to get by using his abilities. Clark had grown past the milquetoast persona he'd been forced to adopt in the other world, the meekness that reassured everyone there that this one remaining Kryptonian was no threat. Now, back on his own world, he could let his natural personality come to the fore. It still surprised him, just a bit, that people would rush to obey his orders at the disaster scenes. Clark hadn't thought of himself as a leader before he'd put on the Suit. But wearing it had forced him to become one.

Clark headed to the crisis commander, a middle-aged man in a dusty fireman's coat who snapped orders to the gathered police, fire, and medical volunteers. He seemed competent – Clark had learned to recognize that. The commander looked up in surprise. Clark's cape swished behind him. Dust rose up where his boots touched the ground. The gathering grew silent as Clark approached.

Clark saw the confidence in the eyes of those who watched him. Everyone expected him to help. Only Clark knew of a world where people ran from Kryptonians, screaming in terror. That had never happened on this world, and it never would. Superman was not a conqueror. Instead, he had become a symbol of hope, an inspiration.

The incident commander advanced confidently, extending his hand to Clark in greeting. There was no flinching, no cowering. The commander didn't fear the Kryptonian. Instead, there was only a calm confidence that Superman would help. He looked Clark straight in the eye and shook his hand firmly.

"Superman," the commander said. "We're glad you're here."

FINIS

_Writing this has been a long process. Many thanks to my fine betas, Leela and Artemis. Their hard work has made this a much better fic. Words can't express my gratitude and appreciation for their efforts._

_Thanks also (again!) to Tobiwolf13, who had the original idea. Her fic "Armageddon" sparked the idea for this one – what if Clark got left behind in the alt-Earth after Zod had conquered it? Go and read her fic at Effulgent and Smoking Cool dot com. Trust me, you'll enjoy it._

_And last but not least, thanks to all of those who commented. Your input kept me going through the slow times. Your feedback was great and much appreciated. _


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